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SCOTT, F0RESMAN AND COMPANY 

EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHERS 
NEW YORK CHICAGO 



^beXafte ignglisb Classica 

EDITED BY 

LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A.B. 

Professor of English Literature and Rhetoric in 
Brown University 



Ube 2Lafee lEnalisb Classics 



TYPES OF THE SHORT STORY 

SELECTED STORIES WITH 
READING LISTS 



EDITED BY 

BENJAMIN A. HEYDRICK 
it 

HIGH SCHOOL OF COMMERCE 
NEW YORK CITY 



SCOTT, FORESMAN & COMPANY 
CHICAGO NEW YORK 






Yrt3 3?3 

4- 



Copyright 1913 

BY 

SCOTT, FOEESMAN AND COMPANY 



©CI.A354675 



PREFACE 

The prominence of the short story as a literary form 
has led to the preparation of several textbooks on the 
subject. Some of these are treatises on the technique of 
the short story, others give specimens selected to show 
the historical development of the type. But a course in 
the writing of short stories belongs in college work, and the 
study of the evolution of literary forms has its proper place 
in the university. The present volume is prepared for the 
high school student. It does not aim to trace the develop- 
ment of the short story, but accepting it as a literary 
type, considers the chief forms in which it is found today. 
To this end thirteen stories, each illustrating a well-defined 
type, are presented. Each selection is followed by brief 
comment and a list of other stories of the same type, the 
purpose being to lead the student to a wider and more 
intelligent reading in this enjoyable field of literature. 

B. A. H. 

New York, June, 1913. 



CONTENTS 



Preface „ 3 

Introduction 

I The Tale and the Short Story 9 

II Bibliography 11 

i History and. Criticism 11 

ii Collections of Short Stories 13 

III Plan for the Study of a Short Story 14 

i Type 14 

ii Purpose 15 

iii Title : 15 

iv Beginning 16 

v Plot 16 

vi Characters 17 

vii Setting 18 

viii Style 18 

The Tale 

Rip Van Winkle Washington Irving 21 

Editor's Note 44 

Representative Tales for Reading 45 

Story of Dramatic Incident 

The Ambitious Guest Nathaniel Hawthorne 47 

Editor's Note 57 

Representative Stories of Dramatic Incident. ... 59 

5 



6 CONTENTS 

Story of Local Color 

Namgay Doola Rudyard Kipling 60 

Editor's Note 73 

Representative Stories of Local Color 74 

Love Story 

Two of Them James M. Barrie 78 

Editor's Note 88 

Representative Love Stories 90 

Story of Romantic Adventure 

The Sire De Maletroit's Door. .Robert Louis Stevenson 91 

Editor's Note 116 

Representative Stories of Romantic Adventure. . 117 

Story of Terror 

The Pit and the Pendulum Edgar Allan Poe 119 

Editor's Note '. 138 

Representative Stories of Terror 139 

Story of the Supernatural 

The Haunted and the Haunters; or, the House and 

the Brain Edward Bulwer-Lytton 140 

Editor's Note 174 

Representative Stories of the Supernatural 175 

Humorous Story 

My Double and How He Undid Me 

Edward Everett Hale 177 



CONTENTS 7 

Editor's Note 199 

Representative Humorous Stories 200 

Character Sketch 

Cree Queery and Mysy Drolly James M. Barrie 202 

Editor's Note 208 

Representative Character Sketches 209 

Animal Story 

Moti Guj -Mutineer Rudyard Kipling 211 

Editor's Note 219 

.Representative Animal Stories 220 

Apologue 

Doctor Heidegger's Experiment. Nathaniel Hazvthorne 221 

Editor's Note 233 

Representative Apologues . 234 

Story of Ingenuity 

The Gold-Bug Edgar Allan Poe 236 

Editor's Note 280 

Representative Stories of Ingenuity 281 

Psychological Story 

Markheim Robert Louis Stevenson 283 

Editor's Note 303 

Representative Psychological Stories 304 



INTRODUCTION 

I. The Tale and the Short Story 

In the literary history of the last half of the nineteenth 
century, one of the most significant facts is the develop- 
ment of the short story. This does not mean that there 
were no short stories before that date; it is possible to 
trace the short story in prose into the eighteenth century, 
or still further to Boccaccio and the Arabian Nights, while 
short stories in verse have been familiar to English readers 
since the time of Chaucer. But towards the middle of the 
nineteenth century the prose short story appears as a defi- 
nite, recognized type, and in the period following, such 
authors as Poe, Hawthorne, Harte, and Henry James in 
America, Stevenson and Kipling in England, De Maupas- 
sant and Coppee in France, and Turgenieff in Russia, de- 
liberately chose this form and achieved in it some of their 
greatest successes. 

To this period also belongs the differentiation of the 
short story and the tale. The distinction may be illustrated 
by supposing a writer of today, with material at hand for 
Irving's "Rip Van Winkle," sitting down to plan his 
story. He might write a narrative called "Rip and the 
Goblins," in which he would tell little or nothing of Rip's 
home life, but would make more of the meeting with the 
dwarfs, and of the wonderful sleep. That would be a 
story of the supernatural. Again, he might omit the 
goblins entirely, making Rip's long absence due to some 
natural cause, and center attention upon the quaint people 

9 



10 THE SHORT STORY 

of the mountain village, describing their costumes, repro- 
ducing their dialect, picturing the place even more in detail 
than Irving has done. The result would be a story of 
local color. Or he might handle it in still another way. 
The passages between Rip and his scolding wife might be 
told in full, the amusing side of Rip's predicament on his 
return emphasized, and so we should have a humorous 
story. 

The point is, that Irving instead of doing one of these 
things did them all, and so produced a tale. The tale is a 
form of story in which no one element greatly predominates. 
As compared with the short story, it loses in definiteness, 
but it gains in breadth. It must not be inferred that the 
tale is a form of art inferior to the short story, it is merely 
a different form. The distinction is well stated by Professor 
Canby: "Intensity, emphasis, excerption of a single situa- 
tion is the aim of the more modern story-tellers; breadth 
within limits, balance of parts, an easy telling of several 
related incidents, the accomplishment of the first American 
master of the tale." 1 

The force of this distinction may be seen if we compare 
"Rip Van Winkle" with a story like Poe's "The Pit and 
the Pendulum." Poe has a single,, definite purpose: to 
send a thrill of terror through the reader. To that end 
every detail of the story tends; there is no humor, no 
local color, no use of the supernatural; the narrative has 
a singleness of aim that marks it off sharply from the work 
of Irving. Tales like Irving's are still written, and still 
have their charm, but the great majority of story writers 
today follow Poe in aiming at a single effect. 

And since these effects are of various kinds, various 
types of the short story have been developed. "The Pit 
and the Pendulum" we have just spoken of as a story 

(1) The Short Story in English, p. 219. 



INTRODUCTION H 

of terror; the other story from Poe in this volume, "The 
Gold Bug," is designed to puzzle the reader: one mys- 
tery follows another, and the solution comes only at the 
end. This is called a story of ingenuity. Or the short 
story may derive its chief interest from presenting quaint 
or out-of-the-way scenes and people, thus giving us the 
story of local color. Similarly we may have the love story, 
the story of romantic adventure, the character sketch, etc. 
It is not always possible to draw a sharp line of demarca- 
tion between these classes: certain stories might be placed 
in any one of several groups. Yet the notable short stories 
nearly all fall definitely into some particular group. 

It must not be inferred that the classification of types 
here given is exhaustive: it would be possible to add other 
classes, such as the story of fantasy, of which Kipling's 
"The Brushwood Boy" is a fine example, or the story of 
youth, as seen in Kenneth Grahame's The Golden Age. 
But the types here presented are those most frequently 
found in the work of modern short story writers. 



II. Bibliography 
i. history and criticism 

The Short Story in English. Henry S. Canbv. (Henry 
Holt & Co.) 
The most recent and scholarly work on the history of 

the short story, tracing it from the Middle Ages to the 

present. Critical estimates of Hawthorne, Poe, Kipling, 

and others. 

American Short Stories, ed. Charles S. Baldwin. (Long- 
mans, Green & Co.) 
Introduction discusses the rise of the short story and 

its development in America. 



12 THE SHOET STOEY 

Writing the Short Story. J. Berg Esenwein. (Hinds, 
Noble & Eldredge.) 
Deals chiefly with the technique of the modern short 
story, with suggestions to young authors. Good bibliog- 
raphy in appendix. 

The Short Story, Its Principles and Structure. Evelyn M. 
Albright. (The Macmillan Co.) 
Similar to the preceding book but briefer. 
Methods and Materials of Fiction. Clayton Hamilton. 
(Baker & Taylor.) 
Chapters X and XI distinguish between the novel, the 
novelette, and the short story. 

Short Story Writing. Charles R. Barrett. (Baker & 
Taylor.) 
Similar to Esenwein and Albright, but less significant. 
A Study of Prose Fiction. Bliss Perry. (Houghton, 
Mifflin & Co.) 
Chapter XII contains the best brief discussion of the 
nature and the limitations of the short story. 
The Philosophy of the Short Story. Brander Matthews. 
(Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) 
An elaboration of an earlier essay with the same title, 
published in the volume entitled Pen and Ink. One of 
the earliest attempts to define the short story as a type. 
The Short Story. ed. Brander Matthews. (American 
Book Co.) 
Introduction deals briefly with history and characteristics 
of the short story. 

The American Short Story. Elias Lieberman. (Editor 
Publishing Co.) 
Discusses the short story from the point of view of local 
color. 

The American Short Story. C. Alphonso Smith. (Ginn & 
Co.) 



INTRODUCTION 13 

A brief study of the historical development of the short 
story in America. 

The Art of the Short Story. George W. Gerwig. (The 
Werner Co.) 

Discusses the various elements — plot, character, human 
interest, etc. 
Review of Hazvthorne's Tales. Edgar Allan Poe. Works. 

* Virginia ed. Vol. XI. p. 104. 

States the principles of short story writing as prac- 
ticed by Poe himself. 

II. COLLECTIONS OF SHORT STORIES 

The Book of the Short Story, ed. A. Jessup and H. S. 
Canby. (D. Appleton & Co.) 
Specimens of the short story from 2500 B. C. to the 
present. Includes foreign as well as English literature. 
Extended lists of stories, arranged chronologically. 
Studying the Shoj't Story. J. Berg Esenwein. (Hinds, 
Noble and Eldredge.) Selected short stories with 
analysis of each. 
American Short Stories, ed. Charles S. Baldwin. (Long- 
mans, Green & Co.) 
Contains fifteen stories, chosen rather to illustrate the 
development of the form than for their intrinsic merit. 
The Short Story. ed. Brander Matthews. (American 
Book Co.) 
Selected stories from English and foreign literature. 
World's Greatest Short Stories, ed. Sherwin Cody. (A. C. 
McClurg & Co.) 
Similar to the preceding book. 
Great English Short Story Writers, ed. W. J. and C. W. 
Dawson. 2 vols. (Harper & Bro.) 
Includes some selections from American writers. Good 
introduction. 



14 THE SHORT STORY 

Modern Masterpieces of Short Prose Fiction, ed. Alice V. 

Waite and Edith M. Taylor. (D. Appleton & Co.) 
Great Short Stories, ed. William Patten. 3 vols. (P. F. 

Collier.) 
Short Story Classics. American. ed. William Patten. 

5 vols. (P. F. Collier.) 
Short Story Classics. Foreign, ed. William Patten. 5 

vols. (P. F. Collier.) 
International Short Stories, ed. William Patten. 3 vols. 

(P. F. Collier.) 
Little French Masterpieces, ed. Alexander Jessup. 6 vols. 

(G. P. Putnam's Sons.) 
Little Masterpieces of Fiction, ed. H. W. Mabie and 

Lionel Strachey. 8 vols. (Doubleday, Page & Co.) 
Stories New and Old. ed. H. W. Mabie. (The Mac- 

millan Co,) 
Specimens of the Short Story. ed. G. H. Nettleton. 

(Henry Holt & Co.) 
The preceding collections have introductions and brief 
notes. 
Stories by American Authors. 10 vols. (Charles Scrib- 

ner's Sons.) 
Stories by English Authors. 10 vols. (Charles Scrib- 

ner's Sons.) 
Stories from Scribner's. 6 vols. (Charles Scribner's 

Sons.) 
Stories from McClure's. 5 vols. (The McClure Co.) 

III. Plan for the Study of a Short Story 

i. TYPE 

Among the chief types of the short story are : 
The Tale. (For explanation, see p. 10.) 
Story of Dramatic Incident, (p. 57.) 



INTRODUCTION 15 

Story of Romantic Adventure, (p. 116.) 
Love Story, (p. 89.) 
Story of the Supernatural, (p. 174.) 
Story of Terror, (p. 138.) 
Humorous Story, (p. 199.) 
Story of Local Color, (p. 73.) 
Apologue, (p. 233.) 
Story of Ingenuity, (p. 280.) 
Character Sketch, (p. 208.) 
Animal Story, (p. 219.) 
Psychological Story, (p. 203.) 
Story of Fantasy, (p. 11.) 
Story of Youth, (p. 11.) 
a. To which of these types does the story read belong? 

II. PURPOSE 

a. Has the author a purpose beyond that of entertain- 
ing his readers? (See under Apologue, p. 233.) If so, 
state this purpose. 

III. TITLE 

» The title of a short story may serve one or more pur- 
poses, of which the following are the most common: 

To name the principal character, as Markhcim (Steven- 
son), or to characterize him, as A Coward (De Maupas- 
sant). 

To give the scene, or setting, of the story, as On Green- 
how Hill (Kipling). 

To suggest the chief incident, as My Double and How 
He Undid Me (Hale). 

To name some object which plays an important part in 
the story, as The Gold Bug (Poe). 

To suggest the type of the story, as The Haunted and 
the Haunters (Lytton). 



16 THE SHORT STOEY 

To give the tone of the story, as Broken Wings (Henry 
James). 

To arouse curiosity, as .007 (Kipling). 

a. Which of these j3urposes does the title serve? Has 
it a purpose not mentioned above? 

b. Is the title well chosen? 

IV. BEGINNING 

The opening paragraphs of & story may serve various 
purposes, of which the following are among the most 
common: 

To start the action of the story, either with incident or 
with conversation. 

To introduce characters, by description or by comment. 

To give the setting, describing the scene of the story. 

To state or suggest the central idea of the story. 

To tell how the story came to be written or published. 

a. What purpose or purposes are served by the first 
paragraph or two of the story? Do they serve any pur- 
pose not mentioned above? 

b. Is interest aroused at the beginning? 

v. PLOT 

The plot of a story may be described as "what happens 
to the characters." Plots may be classified on the basis of 
their probability in three groups: probable, improbable, 
or impossible. In realistic fiction the plot is always prob- 
able; in romantic fiction it may be improbable or impos- 
sible. 

a. Is the plot of this story probable, improbable, or 
impossible ? 

b. Is the movement of the story, i. e., the way events 
succeed each other, swift, gradual, or slow? 



INTRODUCTION 17 

c. Is the story interesting? Are there any points where 
the interest flags? 

The climax of a story is the point where the interest is 
at the highest pitch. In many modern short stories, the 
whole plot is built up upon the climax; the story exists for 
this, and when it is reached the story ends. But in the 
tale, and in some modern stories, the climax is less 
important. 

d. Where is the climax in this story? Does the whole 
story converge upon this point? 

In most stories, besides the principal climax there are 
minor ones. In The Sire De Maletroit's Door the trapping 
of Denys by the revolving door, and, later, the declaration 
of Blanche that he is not the man are minor climaxes. 

e. Are there minor climaxes in the story read? Where 
do they occur? 

An incident in a story that helps in plot development is 
called a contributing incident. An incident that does not 
help in plot development is called an episode. Episodes 
may be omitted without affecting the main story. 

/. Are there any episodes in the story read? Can you 
see why they are introduced? 

VI. CHARACTERS 

a. Are the characters many or few? Compare the story 
in this respect with Rip Fan Winkle; with Two of Them. 

b. Are the characters life-like? From what class of 
society are they drawn? 

There are two ways of showing traits of character. The 
first is by author's comment, as when Irving says, "Rip 
was a simple, good natured man," etc. The second is to 
let the characters exhibit their traits through their speech 
and acts, without comment by the author. This is called 
the dramatic method. 



18 THE SHOET STORY 

c. In the story read, which method is used, or are the 
two methods combined? 

VII. SETTING 

a. Are the time and place of the story definitely stated, 
or do you infer them from casual hints? Compare, on this 
j3oint, the story read with The Haunted and the Haunters; 
with Two of Them. 

b. Are the surroundings made clear? Does the author 
give in much detail the appearance of a village street, 
the interior of a house, etc.? If so, why? 

c. Is there much description of nature? 

d. In describing people, does the author give their fea- 
tures ? their figure ? their dress ? Compare with Stevenson's 
description of the Sire de Maletroit, p. 97. 

In some stories the characters or the setting are pur- 
posely vague, just as in a picture an artist may give us 
softened outlines or a shadowy background, to impart a 
certain atmosphere or tone to the picture. 

e. Is this the case in the story read? 

/. Is there sufficient description to make you see clearly 
the persons in the story? 

cj. Is there much use of local color? (See p. 73.) 

VIII. STYLE 

a. Is the story told chiefly through conversation, or 
chiefly through direct narration? Compare the method of 
Two of Them with that of The Pit and the Pendulum. 

b. Is dialect used? If it is, what is gained by its use? 

c. Is the style clear, or are there sentences that you must 
read a second time? 

d. Does the author possess a wide vocabulary? 

e. Does he use unfamiliar or technical terms? If so, 
does he gain or lose by this? 



INTKODUCTION 19 

/. Are figures of speech frequent? Point out a figure of 
speech^ and show what is gained by its use. 

g. Does the style possess individuality, so that you feel 
that after reading several of the writer's stories you could 
recognize his work? 

h. Which of the following terms describe the style of 
the story: swift; graphic; picturesque; easy; flowing; 
abrupt; epigrammatic; intense; transparent; involved; 
careful; polished; tame; wordy; flat? Can you charac- 
terize it by any other term? 



THE TALE 
RIP VAN WINKLE 1 

By WASHINGTON IRVING 
A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER 2 

By Woden, God of Saxons, 

From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, 

Truth is a thing that ever I will keep 

Unto thylke day in which I creep into 

My sepulchre 

Cartweight. 

[The following Tale was found among the papers of the 
late Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New 
York, who was very curious in the Dutch history of the 
province, and the manners of the descendants from its 
primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did 
not lie so much among books as among men: for the 
former are lamentably scanty on his favorite topics; 
whereas he found the old burghers, and still more their 
wives, rich in that legendary lore, so invaluable to true 
history. Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a genuine 
Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed farmhouse, 
under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little 
clasped volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal 
of a book-worm. 

The result of all these researches was a history of the 
province during the reign of the Dutch governors, which 

(1) From The Sketch-Book, published 1819. 

(2) Irving had previously published his humorous History of New 
York, whicb appeared as the work of Diedrich Knickerbocker. 

21 



22 THE SHOET STORY 

he published some years since. There have been various 
opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to 
tell the truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. 
Its chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed 
was a little questioned on its first appearance, but has since 
been completely established ; and it is now admitted into all 
historical collections as a book of unquestionable authority. 

The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of 
his work, and now that he is dead and gone, it cannot do 
much harm to his memory to say that his time might have 
been much better employed in weightier labors. He, how- 
ever, was apt to ride his hobby his own way; and though 
it did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes 
of his neighbors, and grieve the spirit of some friends, 
for whom he felt the truest deference and affection; yet 
his errors and follies are remembered "more in sorrow than 
in anger," and it begins to be suspected, that he never 
intended to injure or offend. But however his memory 
may be appreciated by critics, it is still held dear by 
many folks, whose good opinion is well worth having ; 
particularly by certain biscuit-bakers, who have gone so 
far as to imprint his likeness on their new-year cakes ; and 
have thus given him a chance for immortality, almost equal 
to the being stamped on a Waterloo Medal, or a Queen 
Anne's Farthing.] 

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remem- 
ber the Kaatskill 1 mountains. They are a dismembered 
branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away 
to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble height, and 
lording it over the surrounding country. Every change 
of season, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of 
the day, produces some change in the magical hues and 
shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by all 
the good wives, far and near, as perfect barometers. When 

(1) Kaatskill : now commonly spelled Catskill. 



EIP VAN WINKLE 23 

the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in blue 
and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear 
evening sky; but, sometimes, when the rest of the land- 
scape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors 
about their summits, which, in the last rays of the set- 
ting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory. 

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may 
have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, 
whose shingle-roofs gleam among the trees, just where the 
blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green 
of the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great 
antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch 
colonists, in the early times of the province, just about 
the beginning of the government of the good Peter 
Stuyvesant 1 (may he rest in peace!), and there were some 
of the houses of the original settlers- standing within a 
few years, built of small yellow bricks brought from Hol- 
land, having latticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted 
with weather-cocks. 

In that same village, and in one of these very houses 
(which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn and 
weather-beaten), there lived many years since, while the 
country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple, 
good-natured fellow of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He 
was a descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gal- 
lantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and 
accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. 1 He inher- 
ited, however, but little of the martial character of his 
ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple, good- 
natured man; he was, moreover, a kind neighbor, and an 
obedient, hen-pecked husband. * Indeed, to the latter cir- 

(1) The last of the Dutch governors of New York, or the New 
Netherlands as it was then called. The siege of Fort Christina is 
humorously told in Knickerbocker's History of New YorTc, Book VI, 
ch. 8. 



24 THE SHOET STOEY 

cumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which 
gained him such universal popularity; for those men are 
most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who 
are under the disci23line of shrews at home. Their tem- 
pers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and malleable in the 
fiery furnace of domestic tribulation; and a curtain lecture 
is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the 
virtues of patience and long-suffering. A termagant wife 
may, therefore, in some respects, be considered a tolerable 
blessing; and if so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed. 

Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the 
good wives of the village, who, as usual with the amiable 
sex, took his part in all family squabbles; and never failed, 
whenever they talked those matters over in their evening 
gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van Winkle. 
The children of the village, too, would shout with joy 
whenever he approached. He assisted at their sports, 
made their playthings, taught them to fly kites and shoot 
marbles, and told them long stories of ghosts, witches, and 
Indians. Whenever he went dodging about the village, 
he was surrounded by a troop of them, hanging on his 
skirts, clambering on his back, and playing a thousand 
tricks on him with impunity ; and not a dog would bark 
at him throughout the neighborhood. 

The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable 
aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be 
from the want of assiduity or perseverance; for he would 
sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a 
Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a murmur, even 
though he should not be encouraged by a single nibble. 
He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours 
together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill 
and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons. 
He would never refuse to assist a neighbor even in the 



EIP VAN WINKLE 25 

roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics 
for husking Indian corn, or building stone-fences ; the 
women of the village, too, used to employ him to run their 
errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging 
husbands would not do for them. In a word, Rip was ready 
to attend to anybody's business but his own; but as to 
doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found 
it impossible. 

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his 
farm; it was the most pestilent little piece of ground in 
the whole country; every thing about it went wrong, and 
would go wrong, in spite of him. His fences were con- 
tinually falling to pieces; his cow would either go astray, 
or get among the cabbages; weeds were sure to grow 
quicker in his fields than anywhere else; the rain always 
made a point of setting in just as he had some out-door 
work to do ; so that though his patrimonial estate had 
dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until 
there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn 
and potatoes, yet it was the worst conditioned farm in the 
neighborhood. 

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they 
belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in 
his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the 
old clothes of his father. He was generally seen trooping 
like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in a pair of his 
father's cast-off galligaskins, 1 which he had much ado to 
hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in 
bad weather. 

Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mor- 
tals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world 
easy, eat white bread or brown, whichever can be got with 
least thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny 

(1) galligaskins : loose breeches. 



26 THE SHOKT STORY 

than work for a pound. If left to himself, he would have 
whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife 
kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, 
his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his 
family. Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was inces- 
santly going, and everything he said or did was sure to 
produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but 
one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and that, 
by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He shrugged 
his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said 
nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh volley 
from his wife; so that he was fain to draw off his forces 
and take to the outside of the house — the only side which, 
in truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband. 

Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who 
was as much hen-pecked as his master; for Dame Van 
Winkle regarded them as companions in idleness, and even 
looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his 
master's going so often astray. True it is, in all points 
of spirit befitting an honorable dog, he was as courageous 
an animal as ever scouted the woods — but what courage 
can withstand the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of 
a woman's tongue? The moment Wolf entered the house 
his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground, or curled 
between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, 
casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and 
at the least flourish of a broom-stick or ladle, he would 
fly to the door with yelping precipitation. 

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as 
years of matrimony rolled on; a tart temper never mellows 
with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that 
grows keener with constant use. For a long while he used 
to console himself, when driven from home, by frequenting 
a kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and 



EIP VAN WINKLE 27 

other idle personages of the village; which held its sessions 
on a bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund 
portrait of His Majesty George the Third. Here they 
used to sit in the shade through a long lazy summer's day, 
talking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless 
sleepy stories about nothing. But it would have been 
worth any statesman's money to have heard the profound 
discussions that sometimes took place, when by chance an 
old newspaper fell into their hands from some passing 

I traveller. How solemnly they would listen to the con- 
tents, as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, the school- 
master, a dapper learned little man, who was not to be 

I daunted by the most gigantic word in the dictionary; and 
how sagely they would deliberate upon public events some 
months after they had taken place. 

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled 
by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and land- 
lord of the inn, at the door of which he took his seat from 
morning till night, just moving sufficienth^ to avoid the 
sun and keep in the shade of a large tree; so that the 
neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as accu- 
rately as by a sun-dial. It is true he was rarely heard to 
speak, but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adherents, 
however (for every great man has his adherents), per- 
fectly understood him, and knew how to gather his opin- 
ions. When any thing that was read or related displeased 
him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and 
to send forth short, frequent and angry puffs; but when 
pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, 
and emit it in light and placid clouds; and sometimes, 
taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant 
vapor curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head 
in token of perfect approbation. 

From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at 



28 THE SHOET STORY 

length routed by his termagant wife, who would suddenly 
break in upon the tranquillity of the assemblage and call 
the members all to naught; nor was that august person- 
age, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring 
tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him outright 
with encouraging her husband in habits of idleness. 

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his 
only alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and 
the clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll 
away into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat him- 
self at the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his 
wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a fellow- 
sufferer in persecution. "Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy 
mistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my 
lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand 
by thee !" W f olf would wag his tail, look wistfully in his 
master's face, and if dogs can feel pity I verily believe he 
reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart. 

In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, 
Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts 
of the Kaatskill mountains. He was after his favorite 
sport of squirrel shooting, and the still solitudes had 
echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his gun. Panting 
and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on 
a green knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned 
the. brow of a precipice. From an opening between the 
trees he could overlook all the lower country for many a 
mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the lordly 
Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majes- 1 
tic course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail 
of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy 
bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue highlands. 

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain 
glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with frag- . 



EIP VAN WINKLE 29 

(merits from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by 
jthe reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip 
! lay. musing on this scene; evening was gradually advancing; 
the mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over 
I the valleys ; he saw that it would be dark long before he 
i could reach the village; and he heaved a heavy sigh when 
he thought of encountering the terrors of Dame Van 
Winkle. 

As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a 
distance, hallooing, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" 
He looked round, but could see nothing but a crow winging 
its solitary flight across the mountain. He thought his 
fancy must have deceived him, and turned again to de- 
scend, when he heard the same cry ring through the still 
evening air: "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" — at 
the same time W 7 olf bristled up his back, and giving a low 
growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down 
into the glen. Rip now felt a vague apprehension stealing 
over him; he looked anxiously in the same direction, and 
j3erceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and 
bending under the weight of something he carried on his 
back. He was surprised to see any human being in this 
lonely and unfrequented place, but supposing it to be 
some one of the neighborhood in need of his assistance, he 
hastened down to yield it. 

On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the 
singularity of the stranger's appearance. He was a short 
square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a griz- 
zled beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion — a 
cloth jerkin 1 strapped round the waist — several pair of 
breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decorated with 
rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches 2 at the knees. 

(1) jerkin: a short, close-fitting jacket. 

(2) bunches : hows of ribbon. 



30 THE SHOET STORY 

He bore on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of 
liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him 
with the load. Though rather shy and distrustful of this 
new acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual alacrity; 
and mutually relieving one another, they clambered up a 
narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain tor- J 
rent. As they ascended, Rip every now and then heard f 
long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to issue 
out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft, between lofty rocks, , 
toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused 
for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one 
of those transient thunder-showers which often take place 
in mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing through the 
ravine, they came to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre, ! 
surrounded by perpendicular precipices, over the brinks 
of which impending trees shot their branches, so that you ' 
only caught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright 
evening cloud. During the whole time Rip and his com- 
panion had labored on in silence; for though the former 
marvelled greatly what could be the object of carrying 
a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was j 
something strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, 
that inspired awe and checked familiarity. 

On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder 
presented themselves. On a level spot in the centre was | 
a company of odd-looking personages playing at nine-pins. 
They were dressed in a quaint, outlandish fashion; some 
wore short doublets, 1 others jerkins, with long knives in 
their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches, of 
similar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, 
were peculiar: one had a large beard, broad face, and 
small piggish eyes: the face of another seemed to consist 
entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar-loaf 

(1) doublet: a short coat, like a jerkin, but having sleeves. 



KIP VAN WINKLE 31 

' hat 1 set off with a little red cock's - tail. They all had 

! beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one who 

I seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old gentle- 

| man, with a weather-beaten countenance ; he wore a laced 

doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and 

| feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses 2 

in them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures 

in an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of Dominie 

Van Shaick, the village parson, and which had been brought 

over from Holland at the time of the settlement. 

What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though 
these folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they 
maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, 
and were, withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure 
he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness 
of the scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever 
they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rumbling 
| peals of thunder. 

As Rip and his companion approached them, they sud- 
denly desisted from their play, and stared at him with such 
fixed statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack- 
lustre countenances, that his heart turned within him, and 
his knees smote together. His companion now emptied 
the contents of the keg into large flagons, and made signs 
to him to wait upon the company. He obeyed with fear 
and trembling; they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, 
and then returned to their game. 

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He 
even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste 
the beverage, which he found had much of the flavor of 
excellent Hollands. 3 He was naturally a thirsty soul, and 

(1) sugar-loaf hat: a high conical hat. 

(2) roses : rosettes. 

(3) Hollands : gin, so called because it was first brought from 
Holland. 



32 THE SHORT STORY 

was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste pro- 
voked another; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon 
so often that at length his senses were overpowered, his 
eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, and 
he fell into a deep sleep. 

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence 
he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed 
his eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were 
hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle 
was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. 
"Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." 
He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The 
strange man with a keg of liquor — the mountain ravine- 
the wild retreat among the rocks — the woe-begone party 
at nine-pins — the flagon — "Oh ! that flagon ! that wicked 
flagon!" thought Rip — "what excuse shall I make to Dame 
Van Winkle!" 

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean 
well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying 
by him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, 
and the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected . that the 
grave roysters of the mountain had put a trick upon him, 
and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his 
gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have 
strayed away after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled 
after him and shouted his name, but all in vain; the echoes 
repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was to be seen. 

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's; 
gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand 
his dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff 
in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. "These 
mountain beds do not agree with me," thought Rip, "and 
if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, 
I shall have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle.' 



RIP VAN WINKLE 33 

! With some difficulty he got down into the glen: he found 

i the gully up which he and his companion had ascended 

the preceding evening; but to his astonishment a mountain 

stream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock to 

rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, 

i however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his 

! toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and 

j witch-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the 

| wild grapevines that twisted their coils or tendrils from 

j tree to tree, and spread a kind of network in his path. 

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened 
I through the cliffs to the amphitheatre; but no traces of 
i such opening remained. The rocks presented a high 
impenetrable wall over which the torrent came tumbling 
in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad deep 
basin, black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. 
Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again 
called and whistled after his dog; he was only answered 
by the cawing of a flock of idle crows, sporting high in air 
about a dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; and 
who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down and 
scoff at the poor man's perplexities. What was to be 
done? The morning was passing away, and Rip felt 
famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give 
up his dog and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but 
it would not do to starve among the mountains. He 
shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with 
a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps 
homeward. 

As he approached the village he met a number of people, 
but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, 
for he had thought himself acquainted with every one in 
the country round. Their dress, too, was of a different 
fashion from that to which he was accustomed. They all 



34 THE SHOET STORY 

stared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever 
they cast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked their 
chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture induced 
Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his astonish- 
ment, he found his beard had grown a foot long ! 

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop 
of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, 
and pointing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one 
of which he recognized for an old acquaintance, barked 
at him as he passed. The very village was altered; it 
was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses 
which he had never seen before, and those which had been 
his familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange names were 
over the doors — strange faces at the windows — every thing 
was strange. His mind now misgave him; he began to 
doubt whether both he and the world around him were not 
bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which he 
had left but the day before. There stood the Kaatskill 
mountains — there ran the silver Hudson at a distance — 
there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always 
been — Rip was sorely perplexed — "That flagon last night," 
thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly !" 

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his 
own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting 
every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. 
He found the house gone to decay — the roof fallen in, the 
windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half- 
starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. 
Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his 
teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed — 
"My very dog," sighed poor Rip, "has forgotten me !" 

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van 
Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, 
forlorn, and apparently abandoned. This desolateness 



RIP VAN WINKLE 35 

overcame all bis connubial fears — lie called loudly for his 
wife and children — the lonely chambers rang for a moment 
with his voice, and then all again was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the 
village inn — but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden 
building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, 
some of them broken and mended with old hats and petti- 
coats, and over the door was painted, "The Union Hotel, 
hy Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great tree that 
used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there 
now was reared a tall naked pole, with something on the 
top that looked like a red night-cap, 1 and from it was 
fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of 
stars and stripes — all this was strange and incompre- 
hensible. He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby 
face of King George, under which he had smoked so many 
a peaceful pipe; but even this was singularly metamor- 
phosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and 
buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, 
the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath 
was painted in large characters, General Washington. 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but 
none that Rip recollected. The very character of the 
people seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, 
disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm 
and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage 
Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double chin, and 
fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke instead 
of idle speeches ; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling 
forth the contents of an ancient newspaper. In place of 
these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full 
of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights 

(1) night-cap: the liberty cap, as seen on the seated figure of 
the Goddess of Liberty on old silver coins. 



36 THE SHOKT STORY 

of citizens — elections — members of congress — liberty — 
Bunker's Hill — heroes of seventy-six — and other words, 
which were a perfect Babylonish jargon to the bewildered 
Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, 
his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army 
of women and children at his heels, soon attracted the 
attention of the tavern politicians. They crowded round 
him, eyeing him from head to foot with great curiosity. 
The orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly 
aside, inquired "on which side he voted?" Rip stared in 
vacant stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow 
pulled him by the arm, and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in 
his ear, "Whether he was Federal or Democrat?" Rip 
was equally at a loss to comprehend the question; when 
a knowing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked 
hat, made his way through the crowd, putting them to the 
right and left with his elbows as he passed, and planting 
himself before Van Winkle, with one arm akimbo, the other 
resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat pene- 
trating, as it were, into his very soul, demanded in an 
austere tone, "what brought him to the election with a gun 
on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether he 
meant to breed a riot in the village?" — "Alas! gentlemen," 
cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am a poor quiet man, 
a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God 
bless him!" 

Here a general shout burst from the by-standers — "A 
tory ! a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with him !" 
It was with great difficulty that the self-important man in 
the cocked hat restored order; and, having assumed a 
tenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown 
culprit, what he came there for, and whom he was seeking? 
The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, 



; 



RIP VAN WINKLE 37 

but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors, 
who used to keep about the tavern. 

"Well — who are they? — Name them." 

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's 
Nicholas Vedder?" 

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man 
replied, in a thin piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder! why, 
he is dead and gone these eighteen years. There was a 
wooden tombstone in the church-yard that used to tell all 
about him, but that's rotten and gone too." 

"Where's Brom Dutcher?" 

"Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the 
war; some say he was killed at the storming of Stony 
Point 1 — others say he was drowned in a squall at the foot 
of Antony's Nose. I don't know — he never came back 
again." 

"Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?" 

"He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, 
and is now in congress." 

Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes 
in his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone 
in the world. Every answer puzzled him too, by treating 
of such enormous lapses of time, and of matters which he 
could not understand: war — congress — Stony Point; — he 
had no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried 
out in despair, "Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?" 

"Oh, Rip Van Winkle !" exclaimed two or three, "Oh, 
to be sure ! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against 
the tree." 

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, 
as he went up the mountain: apparently as lazy, and cer- 
tainly as ragged. The poor fellow was now completely 

(1) Stony Point, on the Hudson near West Toint, was the site 
of an important fort during the Revolutionary War. 



38 THE SHORT STORY 

confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether he 
was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilder- 
ment, the man in the cocked hat demanded who he was, and 
what was his name ? 

"God knows/' exclaimed he, at his wits end; "I'm not 
myself — I'm somebody else — that's me yonder — no — that's 
somebody else got into my shoes — I was myself last night, 
but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they've changed 
my gun, and every thing's changed, and I'm changed, and 
I can't tell what's my name, or who I am !" 

The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, 
wink significantly, and tap their fingers against their fore- 
heads. There was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, 
and keeping the old fellow from doing mischief, at the very 
suggestion of which the self-important man in the cocked 
hat retired with some precipitation. At this critical moment 
a fresh comely woman pressed through the throng to get 
a peep at the gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child 
in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. 
"Hush, Rip," cried she, "hush, you little fool; the old man 
won't hurt you." The name of the child, the air of the 
mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of 
recollections in his mind. "What is your name, my good 
woman?" asked he. 

"Judith Gardenier." 

"And your father's name?" 

"Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's 
twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, 
and never has been heard of since — his dog came home 
without him; but whether he shot himself, or was carried 
away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a 
little girl." 

Rip had but one question more to ask ; but he put it with 
a faltering voice: 



EIP VAN WINKLE 39 

"Where's your mother?" 

"Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke 
a blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New-England 
peddler." 

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. 
The honest man could contain himself no longer. He 
caught his daughter and her child in his arms. "I am your 
father !" cried he — "Young Rip Van Winkle once — old Rip 
Van Winkle now! — Does nobody know poor Rip Van 
Winkle?" 

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from 
among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering 
under it in his face for a moment, exclaimed, "Sure enough ! 
it is Rip Van Winkle — it is himself ! Welcome home again, 
old neighbor — Why, where have you been these twenty 
long years?" 

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years 
had been to him but as one night. The neighbors stared 
when they heard it ; some were seen to wink at each other, 
and put their tongues in their cheeks : and the self-important 
man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over, had 
returned to the field, screwed down the corners of his 
mouth, and shook his head — upon which there was a general 
shaking of the head throughout the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old 
Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the 
road. He was a descendant of the historian of that name, 
who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the province. 
Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and 
well versed in all the wonderful events and traditions of 
the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at once, and cor- 
roborated his story in the most satisfactory manner. He 
assured the company that it was a fact, handed down from 
his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill mountains had 



40 THE SHOET STORY 

always been haunted by strange beings. That it was 
affirmed that the great Hendrik Hudson, the first dis- 
coverer of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there 
every twenty years, with his crew of the Half-moon; 1 being 
permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his enterprise, 
and keep a guardian eye upon the river, and the great city 
called by his name. That his father had once seen them 
in their old Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins in a hollow 
of the mountain: and that he himself had heard, one 
summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant 
peals of thunder. 

To make a long story short, the company broke up, and 
returned to the more important concerns of the election. 
Rip's daughter took him home to live with her; she had a 
snug, well-furnished house, and a stout, cheery farmer for a 
husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that 
used to climb upon his back. As to Rip's son and heir, who 
was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree, he 
was employed to work on the farm; but evinced an 
hereditary disposition to attend to any thing else but his 
business. 

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits; he soon 
found many of his former cronies, though all rather the 
worse for the wear and tear of time ; and preferred making 
friends among the rising generation, with whom he soon 
grew into great favor. 

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that 
happy age when a man can be idle with impunity, he took 
his jDlace once more on the bench at the inn door, and was 
reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the village, and a 
chronicle of the old times "before the war." It was some 
time before he could get into the regular track of gossip, 

(1) Half-moon : the ship in which Hudson made his voyage to 
America and sailed up the Hudson as far as the site of Albany. 



EIP VAN WINKLE 41 

or could be made to comprehend the strange events that 
had taken place during his torpor. How that there had 
been a revolutionary war — that the country had thrown off 
the yoke of old England — and that, instead of being a sub- 
ject of his Majesty George the Third, he was now a free 
citizen of the United States. Rip, in fact, was no poli- 
tician; the changes of states and empires made but little 
impression on him; but there was one species of despotism 
under which he had long groaned, and that was — petticoat 
government. Happily that was at an end; he had got his 
neck out of the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and 
out whenever he pleased, without dreading the tyranny 
of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her name was men- 
tioned, however, he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, 
and cast up his eyes; which might pass either for an ex- 
pression of resignation to his fate, or joy at his deliverance. 
He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived 
at Mr. Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary 
on some points every time he told it, which was, doubtless, 
owing to his having so recently awaked. It at last settled 
down precisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, 
woman, or child in the neighborhood, but knew it by heart. 
Some always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and 
insisted that Rip had been out of his head, and that this 
was one point on which he always remained flighty. The 
old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it 
full credit. Even to this day they never hear a thunder- 
storm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they 
say Hendrik Hudson and his crew are at their game of 
nine-pins ; and it is a common wish of all hen-pecked 
husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on 
their hands, that they might have a quieting draught out 
of Rip Van Winkle's flagon. 



42 THE SHORT STORY 

irving's note 

The foregoing Tale, one would suspect, had been sug- 
gested to Mr. Knickerbocker by a little German super- 
stition about the Emperor Frederick der Rothbart 1 , and 
the Kypphaiiser mountain: the subjoined note, however, 
which he had appended to the tale, shows that it is an 
absolute fact, narrated with his usual fidelity: 

"The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to 
many, but nevertheless I give it my full belief, for I know 
the vicinity of our old Dutch settlement to have been very 
subject to marvellous events and appearances. Indeed, 
I have heard many stranger stories than this, in the villages 
along the Hudson ; all of which were too well authenticated 
to admit of a doubt. I have even talked with Rip Van 
Winkle myself, who, when I last saw him, was a very 
venerable old man, and so perfectly rational and consistent 
on every other point, that I think no conscientious person 
could refuse to take this into the bargain; nay, I have 
seen a certificate on the subject taken before a country 
justice and signed with a cross, in the justice's own hand- 
writing. The story, therefore, is beyond the possibilitv of 
doubt. D. K> 

POSTSCRIPT 

The following are travelling notes from a memorandum- 
book of Mr. Knickerbocker: 

The Kaatsberg, or Catskill mountains, have always been 
a region full of fable. The Indians considered them the 
abode of spirits, who influenced the weather, spreading 
sunshine or clouds over the landscape, and sending good 
or bad hunting seasons. They were ruled by an old squaw 
spirit, said to be their mother. She dwelt on the highest 
peak of the Catskills, and had charge of the doors of day 
and night to open and shut them at the proper hour. She 

(1) der Rotlibart : the red-bearded. 



EIP VAN WINKLE 43 

hung up the new moons in the skies, and cut up the old 
ones into stars. In times of drought, if properly pro- 
pitiated, she would spin light summer clouds out of cobwebs 
and morning dew, and send them off from the crest of the 
mountain, flake after flake, like flakes of carded cotton, to 
float in the air; until, dissolved by the heat of the sun, 
they would fall in gentle showers, causing the grass to 
spring, the fruits to ripen, and the corn to grow an inch 
an hour. If displeased, however, she would brew up 
clouds black as ink, sitting in the midst of them like a 
bottle-bellied spider in the midst of its web; and when 
these clouds broke, woe betide the valleys ! 

In old times, say the Indian traditions, there was a kind 
of Manitou or Spirit, who kept about the wildest recesses 
of the Catskill mountains, and took a mischievous pleasure 
in wreaking all kinds of evils and vexations upon the red 
men. Sometimes he would assume the form of a bear, 
a panther, or a deer, lead the bewildered hunter a weary 
chase through tangled forests and among ragged rocks; 
and then spring off with a loud ho ! ho ! leaving him aghast 
on the brink of a beetling precipice or raging torrent. 

The favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. It is 
a great rock or cliff on the loneliest part of the mountains, 
and, from the flowering vines which clamber about it, and 
the wild flowers which abound in its neighborhood, is known 
by the name of the Garden Rock. Near the foot of it is a 
small lake, the haunt of the solitary bittern, with water- 
snakes basking in the sun on the leaves of the pond-lilies 
which lie on the surface. This place was held in great 
awe by the Indians, insomuch that the boldest hunter 
would not pursue his game within its precincts. Once upon 
a time, however, a hunter who had lost his way, penetrated 
to the garden rock, where he beheld a number of gourds 
placed in the crotches of trees. One of these he seized 



44 THE SHORT STORY 

and made off with it, but in the hurry of his retreat he let 
it fall among the rocks, when a great stream gushed forth, 
which washed him away and swept him down precipices, 
where he was dashed to pieces, and the stream made its 
way to the Hudson, and continues to flow to the present 
day; being the identical stream known by the name of the 
Kaaters-kill 1 

editor's note 

As has been pointed out in the Introduction, "Rip Van 
Winkle" is not a short story but a tale. To Irving a 
story was, as he says, "merely a frame on which to 
stretch the materials." So he weaves together a little 
adventure, a little humor, a little reflection, a little tra- 
dition, and a little local color: the result is a pleasing 
narrative in which no one element predominates, and which 
we call a tale. It lacks the unity of impression, the single- 
ness of effect, which mark the short story of today. 

And what are the characteristics of this particular tale? 
One of the most obvious is its leisurely movement. It is 
prefaced by a long explanation of how the tale came to 
be printed and who wrote it. There are six pages of 
description and characterization before the story really 
begins. And once started, the author does not hurry on to 
a climax, but proceeds gradually, now and again stopping 
to comment upon a character or a situation. 

This leisurely movement is due in part to the length 
and detail of the descriptions. There are two descrip- 
tions of the Kaatskills, one in the opening paragraph, giv- 
ing the general appearance of the mountains, and later a 
picture of the wild spot where Kip met the dwarf. These 
descriptions, based as they are upon Irving's intimate 
knowledge of the place, give the story local color. This is 
seen also in the description of the people of the village. 

An element of the supernatural is found in Rip's long 

(1) Kaaters-kill : kill, a Dutch word meaning stream. 



EIP VAN WINKLE 45 

sleep. This incident, improbable in itself, is made to seem 
credible by the skillful way it is introduced. First we 
have the meeting with the goblins, which prepares us for 
something strange to follow. Then the long sleep is made 
to seem more probable by the gradual way in which the 
author leads up to it, telling first of the rusty gun, then 
of the long beard, then of the changes in the village, until 
when we finally learn that Rip has been asleep twenty 
years, we accept it as the rational explanation of these 
things. 

To its humor, too, the story owes much of its charm. 
The humor of Irving is never boisterous, and never caustic; 
it plays over its subjects with a kindly light, as in the 
description of the knot of sages at the village inn. 

Note finally that the story is supposed to be told by 
Diedrich Knickerbocker, the mythical personage who wrote 
Knickerbocker's History of New York. The device of half- 
concealing the author behind a fictitious character was a 
common practice at the time. The Sketch Book, in which 
this story was first published in book form, appeared with 
the name of Geoffrev Cravon as author. 



REPRESENTATIVE TALES FOR READING^ 

Legend of Sleepy Hollow; The Spectre Bridegroom; 

in The Sketch Book Washington Irving 

Governor Manco and the Soldier; in The 

Alhambra Washington Irving 

Peter Goldthwaite's Treasure; The Gentle Boy; in 

Twice-Told Tales Nathaniel Hawthorne 

Roger Malvin's Burial; in Mosses From an Old 

Manse Nathaniel Hawthorne 

The Treasure of Franchard ; in The Merry 

Men R. L. Stevenson 

(1) These lists include foreign fiction only where it is readily 
accessible in translations. 



46 THE SHORT STORY 

The Three Strangers; in Wessex Tales; also in 

Stories from English Authors , . Thomas Hardy 

A Leaf in the Storm; in Stories from English 

Authors Ouida 

The Siege of Berlin; in Monday Tales; also in The 

Short Story (Matthews) Alphonse Daudet 

In Loco Parentis; Little Bo-Peep; in Wards of 

Liberty Myra Kelly 

The Mutiny of the Mavericks ; in Mine Own 

People Rudyard Kipling 

A Lear of the Steppes ; in Jessup's Book of the 

Short Story Ivan Turgenieff 

Flute and Violin; in Flute and Violin J. L. Allen 

Svend and His Brethren; in Early Prose 

Romances William Morris 



STORY OF DRAMATIC INCIDENT 
THE AMBITIOUS GUEST 1 

By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

One September night a family had gathered round their 
hearth and piled it high with the driftwood of mountain 
streams, the dry eones of the pine, and the splintered ruins 
of great trees, that had come crashing down the precipice. 
Up the chimney roared the fire, and brightened the room 
with its broad blaze. The faces of the father and mother 
had a sober gladness; the children laughed. The eldest 
daughter was the image of Happiness at seventeen, and 
the aged grandmother, who sat knitting in the warmest 
place, was the image of Happiness grown old. They had 
found the "herb heart's-ease" in the bleakest spot of all 
New England. This family were situated in the Notch 
of the White Hills, 2 where the wind was sharp throughout 
the year and pitilessly cold in the winter, giving their 
cottage all its fresh inclemency before it descended on the 
valley of the Saco. They dwelt in a cold spot and a 
dangerous one, for a mountain towered above their heads 
so steep that the stones would often rumble down its sides 
and startle them at midnight. 

The daughter had just uttered some simple jest that 
filled them all with mirth, when the wind came through 
the Notch and seemed to pause before their cottage, rattling 
the door with a sound of wailing and lamentation before 

(1) From Tirice-Told Tales, published 1837. 

(2) White Hills: better known as the White Mountains. 

47 



48 THE SHOET STOEY 

it passed into the valley. For a moment it saddened them, 
though there was nothing unusual in the tones. But the 
family were glad again when they perceived that the latch 
was lifted by some traveler whose footsteps had been 
unheard amid the dreary blast which heralded his approach 
and wailed as he was entering, and went moaning away 
from the door. 

Though they dwelt in such a solitude, these people held 
daily converse with the world. The romantic pass of the 
Notch is a great artery through which the life-blood of 
internal commerce is continually throbbing between Maine 
on one side and the Green Mountains and the shores of the 
St. Lawrence on the other. The stage coach always drew 
up before the door of the cottage. The wayfarer with no 
companion but his staff paused here to exchange a word, 
that the sense of loneliness might not utterly overcome him 
ere he could pass through the cleft of the mountain or reach 
the first house in the valley. And here the teamster on his 
way to Portland market would put up for the night, and, 
if a bachelor, might sit an hour beyond the usual bedtime 
and steal a kiss from the mountain maid at parting. It was 
one of those primitive taverns where the traveler pays only 
for food and lodging, but meets with a homely kindness 
beyond all price. When the footsteps were heard, there- 
fore, between the outer door and the inner one, the whole 
family rose up, grandmother, children and all, as if about 
to welcome some one who belonged to them, and whose fate 
was linked with theirs. 

The door was opened by a young man. His face at first 
wore the melancholy expression, almost despondency, of 
one who travels a wild and bleak road at nightfall and 
alone, but soon brightened up when he saw the kindly 
warmth of his reception. He felt his heart spring forward 
to meet them all, from the old woman who wiped the chair 



THE AMBITIOUS GUEST 49 

with her apron to the little child that held out its arms to 
him. One glance and smile placed the stranger on a footing 
of innocent familiarity with the eldest daughter. 

"Ah! this fire is the right thing/' cried he, "especially 
when there is such a pleasant circle round it. I am quite 
benumbed, for the Notch is just like the pipe of a great 
pair of bellows; it has blown a terrible blast in my face 
all the way from Bartlett." 

"Then you are going toward Vermont?" said the master 
of the house as he helped to take a light knapsack off the 
young man's shoulders. 

"Yes, to Burlington, and far enough beyond," replied he. 
"I meant to have been at Ethan Crawford's tonight, but a 
pedestrian lingers along such a road as this. It is no mat- 
ter; for when I saw this good fire and all your cheerful 
faces, I felt as if you had kindled it on purpose for me and 
were waiting my arrival. So I shall sit down among you 
and make myself at home." 

The frank-hearted stranger had just drawn his chair to 
the fire when something like a heavy footstep was heard 
without, rushing down the steep side of the mountain as 
with long and rapid strides, and taking such a leap in 
passing the cottage as to strike the opposite precipice. The 
family held their breath, because they knew, the sound, 
and their guest held his by instinct. 

"The old mountain has thrown a stone at us for fear we 
should forget him," said the landlord, recovering himself. 
"He sometimes nods his head and threatens to come down, 
but we are old neighbors, and agree together pretty well 
upon the whole. Besides, we have a sure place of refuge 
hard by if he should be coming in good earnest." 

Let us now suppose the stranger to have finished his sup- 
per of bear's meat, and by his natural felicity of manner to 
have placed himself on a footing of kindness with the whole 



50 THE SHOET STOEY 

family; so that they talked as freely together as if he be- 
longed to their mountain brood. He was of a proud yet 
gentle spirit, haughty and reserved among the rich and 
great, but ever ready to stoop his head to the lowly cottage 
door and be like a brother or a son at the poor man's fire- 
side. In the household of the Notch he found warmth and 
simplicity of feeling, the pervading intelligence of New 
England, and a poetry of native growth which they had 
gathered when they little thought of it from the mountain- 
peaks and chasms, and at the very threshold of their 
romantic and dangerous abode. He had traveled far and 
alone; his whole life, indeed, had been a solitary path, 
for, with the lofty caution of his nature, he had kept 
himself apart from those who might otherwise have been 
his companions. The family, too, though so kind and 
hospitable, had that consciousness of unity among them- 
selves and separation from the world at large which in 
every domestic circle should still keep a holy place where 
no stranger may intrude. But this evening a prophetic 
sympathy impelled the refined and educated youth to pour 
out his heart before the simple mountaineers, and con- 
strained them to answer him with the same free confidence. 
And thus it should have been. Is not the kindred of a 
common fate a closer tie than that of birth ? 

The secret of the young man's character was a high and 
abstracted ambition. He could have borne to live an 
undistinguished life, but not to be forgotten in the grave. 
Yearning desire had been transformed to hope, and hope, 
long cherished, had become like certainty that, obscurely 
as he journeyed now, a glory was to beam on all his path- 
way, though not, perhaps, while he was treading it. But 
when posterity should gaze back into the gloom of what 
was now the present, they would trace the brightness of 
his footsteps, brightening as meaner glories faded, and 



THE AMBITIOUS GUEST 51 

confess that a gifted one had passed from his cradle to 
his tomb with none to recognize him. 

"As yet," cried the stranger, his cheek glowing and his 
eye flashing with enthusiasm — "as yet I have done nothing. 
Were I to vanish from the earth tomorrow, none would 
know so much of me as you — that a nameless youth came 
up at nightfall from the valley of the Saco, and opened 
his heart to you in the evening, and passed through the 
Notch by sunrise, and was seen no more. Not a soul would 
ask, 'Who was he? Whither did the wanderer go?' But 
I cannot die till I have achieved my destiny. Then let. 
Death come; I shall have built my monument." 

There was a continual flow of natural emotion gushing 
forth amid abstracted reverie which enabled the family to 
understand this young man's sentiments, though so foreign 
from their own. With quick sensibility of the ludicrous, 
he blushed at the ardor into which he had been betrayed. 

"You laugh at me," said he, taking the eldest daughter's 
hand and laughing himself. "You think my ambition as 
nonsensical as if I were to freeze myself to death on the 
top of Mount Washington only that people might spy at me 
from the country round-about. And truly that would be a 
noble pedestal for a man's statue." 

"It is better to sit here by this fire," answered the girl, 
blushing, "and be comfortable and contented, though 
nobody thinks about us." 

"I suppose," said her father, after a fit of musing, 
"there is something natural in what the young man says; 
and if my mind had been turned that way, I might have 
felt just the same. It is strange, wife, how his talk has 
set my head running on things that are pretty certain never 
to come to pass." 

"Perhaps they may," observed the wife. "Is the man 
thinking what he will do when he is a widower?" 



52 THE SHORT STORY 

"No, no!" cried he, repelling the idea with reproachful 
kindness. "When I think of your death, Esther, I think 
of mine, too. But I was wishing we had a good farm in 
Bartlett or Bethlehem or Littleton, or some other township 
round the White Mountains, but not where they could 
tumble on our heads. I should want to stand well with my 
neighbors and be called squire 1 and sent to General Court 2 
for a term or two ; for a plain, honest man may do as much 
good there as a lawyer. And when I should be grown 
quite an old man, and you an old woman, so as not to be 
long apart, I might die happy enough in my bed, and leave 
you all crying around me. A slate gravestone would suit 
me as well as a marble one, with just my name and age, 
and a verse of a hymn, and something to let people know 
that I lived an honest man and died a Christian." 

"There, now!" exclaimed the stranger; "it is our nature 
to desire a monument, be it slate or marble, or a pillar of 
granite, or a glorious memory in the universal heart of 
man." 

"We're in a strange way tonight," said the wife, with 
tears in her eyes. "They say it's a sign of something when 
folks' minds go a-wandering so. Hark to the children!" 

They listened accordingly. The younger children had been 
put to bed in another room, but with an open door between ; 
so that they could be heard talking busily among them- 
selves. One and all seemed to have caught the infection 
from the fireside circle, and were outvying each other in 
wild wishes and childish projects of what they would do 
when they came to be men and women. At length a little 
boy, instead of addressing his brothers and sisters, called 
out to his mother: 

"I'll tell you what I wish, mother," cried he: "I want 

(1) squire: a title given to a justice of the peace. 

(2) General Court : the State legislature. 



THE AMBITIOUS GUEST 53 

you and father and grandma'm, and all of us, and the 
stranger, too, to start right away and go and take a drink 
out of the basin of the Flume." 

Nobody could help laughing at the child's notion of leav- 
ing a warm bed and dragging them from a cheerful fire 
to visit the basin of the Flume — a brook which tumbles over 
the precipice deep within the Notch. 

The boy had hardly spoken, when a wagon .rattled along 
the road and stopped a moment before the door. It 
appeared to contain two or three men who were cheering 
their hearts with the rough chorus of a song which re- 
sounded in broken notes between the- cliffs, while the 
singers hesitated whether to continue their journey or put 
up here for the night. 

"Father," said the girl, "they are calling you by name." 
But the good man doubted whether they had really 
called him, and was unwilling to show himself too solicitous 
of gain by inviting people to patronize his house. He 
therefore did not hurry to the door, and, the lash being 
soon applied, the travelers plunged into the Notch, still 
singing and laughing, though their music and mirth came 
back drearily from the heart of the mountain. 

"There, mother!" cried the boy again; "they'd have 
given us a ride to the Flume." 

Again they laughed at the child's pertinacious fancy for 
a night ramble. But it happened that a light cloud passed 
over the daughter's spirit; she looked gravely into the fire 
and drew a breath that was almost a sigh. It forced its 
way, in spite of a little struggle to repress it. Then, 
starting and blushing, she looked quickly around the circle, 
as if they had caught a glimpse into her bosom. The 
stranger asked what she had been thinking of. 

"Nothing," answered she, with a downcast smile; "only 
I felt lonesome just then." 



54 THE SHOKT STOEY 

"Oh, I have always had a gift of feeling what is in other 
people's hearts/' said he, half seriously. "Shall I tell the 
secrets of yours ? For I know what to think when a young 
girl shivers by a warm hearth and complains of lonesome- 
ness at her mother's side. Shall I put these feelings into 
words?" 

"They would not be a girl's feelings any longer if they 
could be put into words," replied the mountain nymph, 
laughing, but avoiding his eye. 

All this was said apart. Perhaps a germ of love was 
springing in their hearts so pure that it might blossom 
in Paradise, since it could not be matured on earth; for 
women worship such gentle dignity as his, and the proud, 
contemplative, yet kindly, soul is oftenest captivated by 
simplicity like hers. But while they spoke softly, and he 
was watching the happy sadness, the lightsome shadows, 
the shy yearnings of a maiden's nature, the wind through 
the Notch took a deeper and drearier sound. It seemed, 
as the fanciful stranger said, like the choral strain of the 
spirits of the blast who in old Indian times had their 
dwelling among these mountains, and made their heights 
* and recesses a sacred region. There was a wail along 
the road as if a funeral were passing. To chase away the 
gloom, the family threw pine-branches on their fire till the 
dry leaves crackled and the flame arose, discovering once 
again a scene of peace and humble happiness. The light 
hovered about them fondly and caressed them all. There 
were the little faces of the children peeping from their 
bed apart, and here the father's frame of strength, the 
mother's subdued and careful mien, the high-browed youth, 
the budding girl, and the good old grandam still knitting 
in the warmest place. 

The aged woman* looked up from her task, and with 
fingers ever busy was the next to speak. 



THE AMBITIOUS GUEST 55 

"Old folks have their notions/' said she, "as well as 
young ones. You've been wishing and planning and letting 
your heads run on one thing and another till you've set my 
mind a-wandering too. Now, what should an old woman 
wish for when she can go but a step or two before she 
comes to her grave? Children, it will haunt me night and 
day till I tell you." 

"What is it, mother?" cried the husband and wife, at 
once. 

Then the old woman, with an air of mystery which drew 
the circle closer round the fire, informed them that she had 
provided her grave-clothes some years before — a nice linen 
shroud, a cap with a muslin ruff, and everything of a finer 
sort than she had worn since her wedding day. But this 
evening an old superstition had strangely recurred to her. 
It used to be said in her younger da} r s that if anything 
were amiss with a corpse, if only the ruff were not smooth 
or the cap did not set right, the corpse, in the coffin and 
beneath the clods, would strive to put up its cold hands 
and arrange it. The bare thought made her nervous. 

"Don't talk so, grandmother," said the girl, shuddering. 

"Now," continued the old woman with singular earnest- 
ness, yet smiling strangely at her own folly, "I want one of 
you, my children, when your mother is dressed and in the 
coffin, — I want one of you to hold a looking-glass over my 
face. Who knows but I may take a glimpse at myself, 
and see whether all's right." 

"Old and young, we dream of graves and monuments," 
murmured the stranger youth. "I wonder how mariners 
feel when the ship is sinking and they, unknown and 
undistinguished, are to be buried together in the ocean, 
that wide and nameless sepulchre?" 

For a moment the old woman's ghastly conception so 
engrossed the minds of her hearers that a sound abroad in 



56 THE SHOET STOEY 

the night, rising like the roar of a blast, had grown broad, 
deep and terrible before the fated group were conscious of 
it. The house and all within it trembled; the foundations 
of the earth seemed to be shaken, as if this awful sound 
were the peal of the last trump. Young and old exchanged 
one wild glance and remained an instant pale, affrighted, 
without utterance or power to move. Then the same shriek 
burst simultaneously from all their lips : 

"The slide! The slide!" 

The simplest words must intimate, but not portray, the 
unutterable horror of the catastrophe. The victims rushed 
from their cottage, and sought refuge in what they deemed 
a safer spot, where, in contemplation of .such an emergency, 
a sort of barrier had been reared. Alas ! they had quitted 
their security and fled right into the pathway of destruc- 
tion. Down came the whole side of the mountain in a 
cataract of ruin. Just before it reached the house the 
stream broke into two branches, shivered not a window 
there, but overwhelmed the whole vicinity, blocked up 
the road and annihilated everything in its dreadful course. 
Long ere the thunder of that great slide had ceased to roar 
among the mountains the mortal agony had been endured 
and the victims were at peace. Their bodies were never 
found. 

The next morning the light smoke was seen stealing 
from the cottage chimney, up the mountain-side. Within, 
the fire was yet smouldering on the hearth, and the chairs 
in a circle round it, as if the inhabitants had but gone forth 
to view the devastation of the slide, and would shortly 
return to thank Heaven for their miraculous escape. All 
had left separate tokens by which those who had known 
the family were made to shed a tear for each. Who has 
not heard their name? The story has been told far and 



THE AMBITIOUS GUEST 57 

wide, and will forever be a legend of these mountains. 
Poets have sung their fate. 

There were circumstances which led some to suppose 
that a stranger had been received into the cottage on this 
awful night, and had shared the catastrophe of all its 
inmates; others denied that there were sufficient grounds 
for such a conjecture. Woe for the high-souled youth 
with his dream of earthly immortality ! His name and 
person utterly unknown, his history, his way of life, his 
plans, a mystery never to be solved, his death and his 
existence equally a doubt, — whose was the agony of that 
death moment? 

editor's note 

An obvious difference between this story and Rip Van 
Winkle is that while Irving tells us several related inci- 
dents — Rip's domestic life, his adventure in the mountains, 
his return to the village, and his subsequent life — Haw- 
thorne deals with a single event, the destruction of a 
family by an avalanche. Again, the time is much shorter. 
Irving's story extends over almost a life-time; Haw- 
thorne's occupies but a single night. The characters are 
fewer in number; the place does not change. In brief, 
while Irving leads us leisurely from one thing to another, 
Hawthorne focuses our attention upon a single point. It 
is the story of a single incident. When such an incident is 
of a striking or significant character, producing a marked 
change in the fortunes of the persons involved, we call it 
dramatic, and a story dealing with it may be called a story 
of dramatic incident: 

The present story was founded upon an actual occur- 
rence, the death of the Willey family, which is thus related 
in J. H. Spaulding's Historical Relics of the White Moun- 
tains : 

"Some time in June, before the great slide in August, 
1826, there came a great storm, and the old veteran, Abel 



58 THE SHOKT STOEY 

Crawford, coming down the Notch, noticed the trees slip- 
ping down, standing upright, and as he was passing Mr. 
Willey's he called and informed him of the wonderful 
fact. Immediately, in a less exposed place, Mr. Willey 
prepared a shelter to which to flee in case of immediate 
danger, and in the night of August 28 in that year he 
was, with his whole family, awakened by the thundering 
crash of the coming avalanche. Attempting to escape, 
that family, nine in number, rushed from the house and 
were overtaken and buried alive under a vast pile of 
rocks, earth, and water. By a remarkable coincidence 
the house remained uninjured, as the slide divided about 
four rods back of the house, against a high flat rock, and 
came down on either side with overwhelming power." 

Such was the incident which set Hawthorne's imagina- 
tion to work. Its dramatic possibilities appealed to him: 
a whole family destroyed, and by the very means through 
which they sought to gain safety. How was he to make his 
readers feel the tragedy? Obviously, he -must first make 
the family real and interesting to us, so he shows them 
as they would appear to a visitor that night. The dra- 
matic effect is heightened by the conversation, which is 
all of hopes and plans for the future. The guest, the 
father, the children, even the old grandmother, tell their 
aims and hopes — and in the very telling death cuts 
short all. 

Among the minor effects of the story may be noted the 
skillful way in which the author prepares us for the 
catastrophe. A playwright once said that in a good drama 
the audience must always get the ending it expected, but 
not in the way it expected. So here from the very opening 
of the story there are hints to make us expect the ending: 
the spot is "a dangerous one," the group are "saddened 
for a moment," the guest is spoken of as "one whose fate 
was linked with theirs." Yet while we are led to expect 
some catastrophe, the final incident, where they meet death 



THE AMBITIOUS GUEST 59 

by the very means they took to avert it, comes unex- 
pectedly. 

Worth noting, too, is the artistic way in which the 
mood of the story is conveyed to us. The wind passes 
through the Notch "with a sound of wailing and lamenta- 
tion"; the falling of a stone makes all hold their breath 
for a moment; the daughter feels a strange shiver at her 
heart. By these touches the story is kept in a minor key, 
we feel the breath of misfortune before it comes. 

In its setting, the story is typical of Hawthorne. He 
was a true son of New England, loving its scenery and 
legends as Irving loved the Hudson. 

REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF DRAMATIC INCIDENT ' 

The Man Who Was ; in Life's Handicap . . Rudyard Kipling 
Howe's Masquerade; The Gray Champion; in Twice- 
Told Tales Nathaniel Hawthorne 

The White Feather; in A Sea Turn. Thomas Bailey Aldrich 
La Grande Bret^ehe; in Scenes of Private Life; also 

in The Book of the Short Story Honore de Balzac 

The Assignation; in Prose Tales Edgar Allan Poe 

The Confessional; The Duchess at Prayer; in Crucial 

Instances Edith Wharton 

A Dramatic Funeral; in Ten Tales Francois Coppee 

Mateo Falcone; in Mosaique; also in The Short Story 

(Matthews) Prosper Merimee 

The Taking of the Redoubt; in Mosaique; also in 
The Book of the Short Story, and in Little French 

Masterpieces Prosper Merimee 

The Gold Brick; in American Magazine, Nov., 

1908 Brand Whitlock 

The Cause of the Difficulty; in Tales of the Home 

Folks Joel Chandler Harris 

Trouble on Lost Mountain; in Free 

Joe Joel Chandler Harris 



STORY OF LOCAL COLOR 
NAMGAY DOOLA. 1 

By RUDYARD KIPLING. 

Once upon a time there was a king who lived on the 
road to Thibet, very many miles in the Himalaya Moun- 
tains. His kingdom was 11,000 feet above the sea, and 
exactly four miles square, but most of the miles stood on 
end 4 owing to the nature of the country: His revenues 
were rather less than £400 yearly, and they were expended 
on the maintenance of one elephant and a standing army 
of five men. He was tributary to the Indian government, 
who allowed him certain sums for keeping a section of the 
Himalaya-Thibet road in repair. He further increased his 
revenues by selling timber to the railway companies, for he 
would cut the great deodar trees in his own forest and they 
fell thundering into the Sutlej River and were swept 
down to the Plains, 300 miles away, and became railway 
ties. Now and again this king, whose name does not 
matter, would mount a ring-streaked horse and ride scores 
of miles to Simlatown to confer with the lieutenant-gov- 
ernor on matters of state, or assure the viceroy that his 
sword was at the service of the queen-empress. Then the 
viceroy would cause a ruffle of drums to be sounded and the 
ring-streaked horse and the cavalry of the state — two men 
in tatters — and the herald who bore the Silver Stick 2 be- 
fore the king would trot back to their own place, which 
was between the tail of a heaven-climbing glacier and a 
dark birch forest. 

(1) From Plain Tales from the Hills, published 1890. 

(2) Silver Stick : an emblem of royalty. 

60 



NAMGAY DOOLA 61 

Now, from such a king, always remembering that he 
possessed one veritable elephant and could count his de- 
scent for 1200 years, I expected, when it was my fate 
to wander through his dominions, no more than mere license 
to live. 

The night had closed in rain, and rolling clouds blotted 
out the lights of the villages in the valley. Forty miles 
away, untouched by cloud or storm, the white shoulder of 
Dongo Pa — the Mountain of the Council of the Gods — 
upheld the evening star. The monkeys sung sorrowfully to 
each other as they hunted for dry roots in the fern-draped 
trees, and the last puff of the day-wind brought from the 
unseen villages the scent of damp wood smoke, hot cakes, 
dripping undergrowth, and rotting pine-cones. That 
smell is the true smell of the Himalayas, and if it once 
gets into the blood of a man he will, at the last, forgetting 
everything else, return to the Hills to die. The clouds 
closed and the smell went away, and there remained noth- 
ing in all the world except chilling white mists and the 
boom of the Sutlej River. 

A fat-tailed sheep, who did not want to die, bleated 
lamentably at my tent-door. He was scuffling with the 
prime minister and the director-general of public educa- 
tion, and he was a royal gift to me and my camp servants. 
I expressed my thanks suitably and inquired if I might 
have audience of the king. The prime minister re-ad- 
justed his turban — it had fallen off in the struggle — and 
assured me that the king would be very pleased to see me. 
Therefore I dispatched two bottles as a foretaste, and 
when the sheep had entered upon another incarnation, 
climbed up to the king's palace through the wet. He 
had sent his army to escort me, but it stayed to talk with 
my cook. Soldiers are very much alike all the world over. 

The palace was a four-roomed, whitewashed mud-and- 



62 THE SHOET STOEY 

timber house, the finest in all the Hills for a day's jour- 
ney. The king was dressed in a purple velvet jacket, 
white muslin trousers, and a saffron-yellow turban of price. 
He gave me audience in a little carpeted room opening off 
the palace court-yard, which was occupied by the elephant 
of state. The great beast was sheeted and anchored from 
trunk to tail, and the curve of his back stood out against 
the sky line. 

The prime minister and the director-general of public 
instruction were present to introduce me; but all the 
court had been dismissed lest the two bottles aforesaid 
should corrupt their morals. The king cast a wreath of 
heavy, scented flowers round my neck as I bowed, and 
inquired how my honored presence had the felicity to be. 
I said that through seeing his auspicious countenance the 
mists of the night had turned into sunshine, and that by 
reason of his beneficent sheep his good deeds would be 
remembered by the gods. He said that since I had set my 
magnificent foot in his kingdom the crops would probably 
yield seventy per cent, more than the average. I said 
that the fame of the king had reached to the four corners 
of the earth, and that the nations gnashed their teeth when 
they heard daily of the glory of his realm and the wisdom 
of his moon-like prime minister and lotus-eyed director- 
general of public education. 

Then we sat down on clean white cushions, and I was 
at the king's right hand. Three minutes later he was 
telling me that the condition of the maize crop was some- 
thing disgraceful, and that the railway companies would 
not pay him enough for his timber. The talk shifted to and 
fro with the bottles. We discussed very many quaint 
things, and the king became confidential on the subject of 
government generally. Most of all he dwelt on the short- 



NAMGAY DOOLA 63 

comings of one of his subjects, who, from what I could 
gather, had been paralyzing the executive. 

"In the old days," said the king, "I could have ordered 
the elephant yonder to trample him to death. Now I must 
e'en send him seventy miles across the hills to be tried, 
and his keep for that time would be upon the state. And 
the elephant eats everything." 

"What be the man's crimes, Rajah Sahib?" said I. 
"Firstly, he is an 'outlander,' and no man of mine own 
people. Secondly, since of my favor I gave him land upon 
his coming, he refuses to pay revenue. Am I not lord of 
the earth, above and below — entitled by right and custom to 
one-eighth of the crop? Yet this devil, establishing him- 
self, refuses to pav a single tax. . . . and he brings a 
poisonous spawn of babes." 
"Cast him into jail," I said. 

"Sahib," the king answered, shifting a little on the 
cushions, "once and only once in these forty years sick- 
ness came upon me so that I was not able to go abroad. 
In that hour I made a vow to mv God that I would never 
again cut man or woman from the light of the sun and the 
air of God, for I perceived the nature of the punishment. 
How can I break my vow? Were it only the lopping off of 
a hand or a foot, I should not delay. But even that is 
impossible now that the English have rule. One or another 
of my people" — he looked obliquely at the director-general 
of public education — "would at once write a letter to the 
viceroy, and perhaps I should be deprived of that rufHe of 
drums." 

He unscrewed the mouthpiece of his silver water-pipe, 
fitted a plain amber one, and passed the pipe to me. 
"Not content with refusing revenue," he continued, "this 
outlander refuses also to beegar" (this is the corvee or 



64 THE SHORT STORY 

forced labor on the roads), "and stirs my people up to 
the like treason. Yet he is, if so he wills, an expert log- 
snatcher. There is none better or bolder among my people 
to clear a block of the river when the logs stick fast." 

"But he worships strange gods," said the prime minister, 
deferentially. 

"For that I have no concern," said the king, who was 
as tolerant as Akbar 1 in matters of belief. "To each man 
his own god, and the fire or Mother Earth for us all at 
the last. It is the rebellion that offends me." 

"The king has an army," I suggested. "Has not the 
king burned the man's house, and left him naked to the 
night dews?" 

"Nay. A hut is a hut, and it holds the life of a man. 
But once I sent my army against him when his excuses be- 
came wearisome. Of their heads he brake three across the 
top with a stick. The other two men ran away. Also the 
guns would not shoot." 

I had seen the equipment of the infantry. One-third 
of it was an old muzzle-loading fowling-piece with ragged 
rust holes where the nipples should have been; one-third 
a wirebound match-lock with a worm-eaten stock, and one- 
third a four-bore flint duck-gun, without a flint. 

"But it is to be remembered," said the king, reaching 
out for the bottle, "that he is a very expert log-snatcher 
and a man of a merry face. What shall I do to him, 
sahib?" 

This was interesting. The timid hill-folk would as soon 
have refused taxes to their king as offerings to their gods. 
The rebel must be a man of character. 

"If it be the king's permission," I said, "I will not 
strike my tents till the third day, and I will see this man. 

(1) Akbar: Emperor of India. 1556-1605. He studied various re- 
ligions, and permitted his subjects to believe in any they preferred. 



NAMGAY DOOLA 65 

The mercy of the king is godlike, and rebellion is like 
unto the sin of witchcraft. Moreover, both the bottles, and 
another, be empty." 

"You have my leave to go," said the king. 

Next morning the crier went through the state pro- 
claiming that there was a log-jam on the river and that 
it behooved all loyal subjects to clear it. The people poured 
down from their villages to the moist, warm valley of 
poppy fields, and the king and I went with them. 

Hundreds of dressed deodar logs had caught on a snag 
of rock, and the river was bringing down more logs every 
minute to complete the blockade. The water snarled and 
wrenched and worried at the timber, while the population 
of the state prodded at the nearest logs with poles, in the 
hope of easing the pressure. Then there went up a shout 
of "Namgay Doola ! Namgay Doola !" and a large, red- 
haired villager hurried up, stripping off his clothes as he 
ran. 

"That is he. That is the rebel!" said the king. "Now 
will the dam be cleared." 

"But why has he red hair?" I asked, since red-hair 
among hill-folk is as uncommon as blue or green. 

"He is an outlander," said the king. "Well done ! Oh, 
well done!" 

Namgay Doola had scrambled on the jam and was 
clawing out the butt of a log with a rude sort of a boat- 
hook. It slid forward slowly, as an alligator moves, and 
three or four others followed it. The green water spouted 
through the gaps. Then the villagers howled and shouted 
and leaped among the logs, pulling and pushing the 
obstinate timber, and the red head of Namgay Doola was 
chief among them all. The logs swayed and chafed and 
groaned as fresh consignments from up-stream battered the 
now weakening dam. It gave way at last in a smother of 



66 THE SHOKT STOEY 

foam, racing butts, bobbing black heads, and a confusion 
indescribable, as the river tossed everything before it. 
I saw the red head go down with the last remnants of the 
jam and disappear between the great grinding tree trunks. 
It rose close to the bank, and, blowing like a grampus, 
Namgay Doola wiped the water out of his eyes and made 
obeisance to the king. 

I had time to observe the man closely. The virulent 
redness of his shock head and beard was most startling, 
and in the thicket of hair twinkled above high cheek-bones 
two very merry blue eyes. He was indeed an outlander, 
but yet a Thibetan in language, habit, and attire. He spoke 
the Lepcha dialect with an indescribable softening of the 
gutturals. It was not so much a lisp as an accent. 

"Whence comest thou?" I asked, wondering. 

"From Thibet." He pointed across the hills and grinned. 
That grin went straight to my heart. Mechanically I held 
out my hand, and Namgay Doola took it. No pure Thibetan 
would have understood the meaning of the gesture. He 
went away to look for his clothes, and as he climbed back 
to his village, I heard a joyous yell that seemed unaccount- 
ably familiar. It was the whooping of Namgay Doola. 

"You see now," said the king, "why I would not kill 
him. He is a bold man among my logs, but," and he 
shook his head like a schoolmaster, "I know that before 
long there will be" complaints of him in the court. Let us 
return to the palace and do justice." 

It was that king's custom to judge his subjects every 
day between eleven and three o'clock. I heard him do 
justice equitably on weighty matters of trespass, slander, 
and a little wife-stealing. Then his brow clouded and he 
summoned me. 

"Again it is Namgay Doola," he said despairingly. 
"Not content with refusing revenue on his own part, he 



NAMGAY DOOLA fu 

has bound half his village by an oath to the like treason. 
Never before has such a thing befallen me ! Nor are my 
taxes heavy." 

A rabbit-faced villager, with a blush-rose stuck behind 
his ear, advanced trembling. He had been in Namgay 
Doola's conspiracy, but had told everything and hoped for 
the king's favor. 

"Oh, king!" said I, "if it be the king's will, let this 
matter stand over till the morning. Only the gods can 
do right in a hurry, and it may be that yonder villager has 
lied." 

"Nay, for I know the nature of Namgav Doola; but 
since a guest asks, let the matter remain. Wilt thou, for 
my sake, speak harshly to this red-headed outlander? He 
may listen to thee." 

I made an attempt that very evening, but for the life 
of me I could not keep my countenance. Namgay Doola 
grinned so persuasively and began to tell me about a big 
brown bear in a poppy field by the river. Would I care 
to shoot that bear ? I spoke austerely on the sin of detected 
conspiracy and the certainty of punishment. Namgay 
Doola's face clouded for a moment. Shortly afterward he 
withdrew from my tent, and I heard him singing softly 
among the pines. The words were unintelligible to me, but 
the tune, like his liquid, insinuating speech, seemed the 
ghost of something strangely familiar. 

"Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir 
To weeree ala gee," 

crooned Namgay Doola again and again, and I racked 
my brain for that lost tune. It was not till after dinner 
that I discovered some one had cut a square foot of velvet 
from the center of my best camera-cloth. This made me 



68 THE SHOET STORY 

so angry that I wandered down the valley in the hope of 
meeting the big brown bear. I could hear him grunting 
like a discontented pig in the poppy field as I waited shoul- 
der deep in the dew-dripping Indian corn to catch him after 
his meal. The moon was at full and drew out the scent 
of the tasseled crop. Then I heard the anguished bellow 
of a Himalayan cow — one of the little black crummies 1 no 
bigger than Newfoundland dogs. Two shadows that looked 
like a bear and her cub hurried past me. I was in the 
act of firing when I saw that each bore a brilliant red head. 
The lesser animal was trailing something rope-like that left 
a dark track on the path. They were within six feet of 
me, and the shadow of the moonlight lay velvet-black on 
their faces. Velvet black was exactly the word, for by 
all the powers of moonlight they were masked in the velvet 
of my camera-cloth. I marveled, and went to bed. 

Next morning the kingdom was in an uproar. Namgay 
Doola, men said, had gone forth in the night and with a 
sharp knife had cut off the tail of a cow belonging to the 
rabbit-faced villager who had betrayed him. It was a sacri- 
lege unspeakable against the holy cow 2 ! The state desired 
his blood, but he had retreated into his hut, barricaded the 
doors and windows with big stones, and defied the world. 

The king and I and the populace approached the hut 
cautiously. There was no hope of capturing our man 
without loss of life, for from a hole in the wall projected 
the muzzle of an extremely well-cared- for gun — the only 
gun in the state that could shoot. Namgay Doola had 
narrowly missed a villager just before we came up. 

The standing army stood. 

It could do no more, for when it advanced pieces of 
sharp shale flew from the windows. To these were added 

(1) crummier cow with crooked horns. 

(2) holy cow : in India the cow is regarded as a sacred animal. 



NAMGAY DOOLA 69 

from time to time showers of scalding water. We saw red 
heads bobbing up and down within. The family of Nam- 
gay Doola were aiding their sire. Blood-curdling yells of 
defiance were the only answer to our prayers. 

"Never/' said the king, puffing, "has such a thing be- 
fallen my state. Next year I will certainly buy a little 
cannon." He looked at me imploringly. 

"Is there any priest in the kingdom to whom he will 
listen?" said I, for a light was beginning to break upon me. 

"He worships his own god/' said the prime minister. 
"We can but starve him out." 

"Let the white man approach/' said Namgay Doola 
from within. "All others I will kill. Send me the white 
man." 

The door was thrown open and I entered the smoky 
interior of a Thibetan hut crammed with children. And 
every child had flaming red hair. A fresh-gathered cow's 
tail lay on the floor, and by its side two pieces of black 
velvet — my black velvet — rudely hacked into the semblance 
of masks. 

"And what is this shame, Namgay Doola?" I asked. 

He grinned more charmingly than ever. "There is no 
shame," said he. "I did but cut off the tail of that man's 
cow. He betrayed me. I was minded to shoot him, sahib, 
but not to death. Indeed, not to death; only in the legs." 

"And why at all, since it is the custom to pay revenue 
to the king? Why at all?" 

"By the god of my father, I cannot tell," said Namgay 
Doola. 

"And who was thy father?" 

"The same that had this gun." He showed me his 
weapon, a Tower musket, bearing date 1832 and the stamp 
of the Honorable East India Company. 

"And thv father's name?" said I. 



70 THE SHOET STORY 

"Tinilay Doola," said he. "At the first, I being then a 
little child, it is in my mind that he wore a red coat." 

"Of that I have no doubt; but repeat the name of .thy 
father twice or thrice." 

He obeyed, and I understood whence the puzzling accent 
in his speech came. "Thirula Dhula !" said he, excitedly. 
"To this hour I worship his god." 

"May I see that god?" 

"In a little while — at twilight time." 

"Rememberest thou aught of thy father's speech?" 

"It is long ago. But there was one word which he 
said often. Thus, ' 'Shun !' Then I and my brethren stood 
upon our feet, our hands to our sides, thus." 

"Even so. And what was thy mother?" 

"A woman of the Hills. We be Lepchas of Darjiling, 
but me they call an outlander because my hair is as thou 
seest." 

The Thibetan woman, his wife, touched him on the arm 
gently. The long parley outside the fort had lasted far 
into the day. It was now close upon twilight — the hour 
of the Angelus. Very solemnly the red-headed brats rose 
from the floor and formed a semicircle. Namgay Doola 
laid his gun aside, lighted a little oil-lamp, and set it be- 
fore a recess in the wall. Pulling back a whisp of dirty 
cloth, he revealed a worn brass crucifix leaning against the 
helmet badge of a long- forgotten East India Company's 
regiment. "Thus did my father," he said, crossing himself 
clumsily. The wife and children followed suit. Then, all 
together, they struck up the wailing chant that I heard 
on the hill-side: 

"Dir hane mard-i-yemen dir 
To weeree ala gee." 



NAMGAY DOOLA 71 

I was puzzled no longer. Again and again they sung, as 
if their hearts would break, their version of the chorus of 
"The Wearing of the Green": 

"They're hanging men and women, too, 
For the wearing of the green." 

"Thus my father sung. There was much more but I 
have forgotten, and I do not know the purport of even 
these words, but it may be that the god will understand. I 
am not of this people, and I will not pay revenue." 

"And why?" 

Again that soul-compelling grin. "What occupation 
would be to me between crop and crop. It is better than 
scaring bears. But these people do not understand." 

He picked the masks off the floor and looked in my face 
as simply as a child. 

"By what road didst thou attain knowledge to make 
those deviltries ?" I said, pointing. 

"I can not tell. I am but a Lepcha of Darjiling, and 
yet the stuff " 

"Which thou hast stolen," said I. 

"Nay, surely. Did I steal? I desired it so. The stuff 
— the stuff. What else should I have done with the stuff?" 
He twisted the velvet between his fingers. 

"But the sin of maiming the cow — consider that." 

"Oh, sahib, the man betrayed me; the heifer's tail 
waved in the moonlight, and I had my knife. What else 
should I have done? The tail came off ere I was aware. 
Sahib, thou knowest more than I." 

"That is true," said I. "Stay within the door. I go 
to speak to the king." The population of the state were 
ranged on the hillside. I went forth and spoke. 



72 THE SHOET STORY 

"Oh, king/' said I, "touching this man, there be two 
courses open to thy wisdom. Thou canst either hang him 
from a tree — he and his brood — till there remains no hair 
that is red within thy land." 

"Nay/' said the king. "Why should I hurt the little 
children?" 

They had poured out of the hut and were making plump 
obeisances to everybody. Namgay Doola waited at the 
door with his gun across his arm. 

"Or thou canst, discarding their impiety of the cow- 
maiming, raise him to honor in thy army. He comes of 
a race that will not pay revenue. A red flame is in his 
blood which comes out at the top of his head in that glow- 
ing hair. Make him chief of thy army. Give him honor as 
may befall and full allowance of work, but look to it, oh, 
king, that neither he nor his hold a foot of earth from 
thee henceforward. Feed him with words and favor and 
also liquor from certain bottles that thou knowest of, and 
he will be a bulwark of defense. But deny him even a 
tuftlet of grass for his own. This is the nature that God 
has given him. Moreover, he has brethren " 

The state groaned unanimously. 

"But if his brethren come they will surely fight with 
each other till they die. . . . Shall he be of thy army, 
O king? Choose." 

The king bowed his head, and I said: "Come forth, 
Namgay Doola, and command the king's army. Thy name 
shall no more be Namgay in the mouths of men, but Patsay 
Doola, for, as thou hast truly said, I know." 

Then Namgay Doola, new-christened Patsay Doola, son 
of Timlay Doola — which is Tim Doolan — clasped the 
king's feet, cuffed the standing army, and hurried in an 
agcny of contrition from temple to temple making offer- 
ings for the sin of the cattle-maiming. 



NAMGAY DOOLA 73 

And the king was so pleased with my perspicacity that 
he offered to sell me a village for £20 sterling. But I buy 
no village in the Himalayas so long as one red head flares 
between the tail of the heaven-climbing glacier and the 
dark birch forest. 

I know that breed. 

editor's note 

We have seen that the short story differs from the tale 
in that the emphasis is laid upon some particular feature. 
In this story it is the setting that is thus emphasized. There 
is no central incident, such as was found in "The Ambitious 
Guest," to centre our attention upon; the source of interest 
lies rather in the glimpse at a life totally unlike that to 
which we are accustomed. Such a story, which aims to give 
the atmosphere of a particular locality, we call a story of 
local color. It is not necessary that the scene be a foreign 
land: there are local color stories of city slums, of country 
villages, of school and college life. The essential thing is 
that stress is laid upon a faithful and detailed portrayal of 
the people of some particular locality, with their own ways 
of living, their standards of judgment, their speech, their 
customs. 

It is tsue that stories of other types may possess this 
quality of local color; it is seen in "Rip Van Winkle," and 
to a less degree in "The Ambitious Guest." But in neither 
of these stories can it be said to constitute the chief interest, 
as it does in this story of Kipling's. 

In the local color story, then, we shall expect to find fre- 
quent passages of description, especially such as convey 
the peculiar "feeling" of a place. For example, this of a 
rainy night: "The monkeys sang sorrowfully to each other 
as they hunted for dry roots in the fern-draped trees, and 
the last puff of the day-wind brought from the unseen 
village the scent of damp wood smoke, hot cakes, dripping 
undergrowth and rotting pine cones. That smell is the 
true smell of the Himalayas." We shall expect to learn 



74 THE SHORT STORY 

something of the customs of the people: here we see the 
king administering justice to his subjects in person. We 
look for peculiarities of speech, often expressed in dialect. 
This last Kipling cannot employ here, but in the opening 
conversation between the king and his guest the style of 
extravagant compliment gives the effect of foreign speech. 

A point of art in this story is the use of suspense. The 
mystery — Namgay Doola's nationality — is first touched 
upon in the report that he is rebellious ; next his red hair 
sets him apart from all the tribe; again, his cries and songs 
have "something strangely familiar" in them; and so on 
until the story of the father with the red coat clears up the 
mystery. 

A large number of the short stories by American authors 
may be considered stories of local color. The extent of our 
country and the diverse nature of our population afford 
rich material for this type of story. Usually an author 
devotes himself to the one section he knows best, and be- 
comes almost identified with that place. Thus Bret Harte 
is the chronicler of the California mining-camp; G. W. 
Cable of the Creole life in Louisiana; Thomas Nelson Page 
of Virginia before the war; Mary Wilkins-Freeman and 
Alice Brown of the New England village; Hamlin Gar- 
land of the farmer of the Middle West; Gilbert Parker of 
the trapper in Canada; Richard Harding Davis of the club- 
man of Fifth Avenue. College life has called forth numer- 
ous volumes of short stories, most of which are stories of 
local color. 



REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF LOCAL COLOR 

Meh Lady; Marse Chan; in In Old 

Virginia Thomas Nelson Page 

Tite Poulette; in Old Creole 'Days George W. Cable 

The Dulham Ladies ; in Tales of New 

England Sarah Orne Jewett 



NAMGAY DOOLA 75 

The Luck of Roaring Camp; Outcasts of Poker Flat; 

in The Luck of Roaring Camp Bret Harte 

H. R. R., The Prince of Hester Street; in Little 

Citizens Myra Kelly 

A Soul above Buttons; in Wards of Liberty . . .Myra Kelly 
The Etiquette of Yetta; Bailey's Babies; in Little 

Aliens Myra Kelly 

The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney; in Mine Oxen 

People Rudyard Kipling 

Without Benefit of Clergy; in Wee Willie 

WinJiie Rudyard Kipling 

An Habitation Enforced; in Actions and 

Reactions Rudyard Kipling 

The Miracle of Purun Bhagat; in The Second Jungle 

Book Rudyard Kipling 

The Tomb of his Ancestors ; in The Day's 

Work Rudyard Kipling 

Squire Xapper; in Tales of Mean 

Streets Arthur Morrison 

The Game and the Xation; in The Virginian .Owen Wister 

Philosophy Four; in Philosophy Four Owen Wister 

On the Track of the Minister; in A Window in 

Thrums J. M. Barrie 

The Sabbath Question in Sudminister; in Ghetto 

Comedies . . Israel Zangwill 

They That Walk in Darkness; in Ghetto 

Tragedies Israel Zangwill 

Van Bibber at the Races ; in Van Bibber and 

Others Richard Harding Davis 

The Exiles ; in The Exiles Richard Harding Davis 

Aunt Amity's Silver Wedding; in Aunt Amity's 

Silver Wedding Ruth McE. Stuart 

Holly and Pizin; in Holly and Pisin. . .Ruth McE. Stuart 



76 THE SHORT STORY 

A New England Nun; Christmas Jenny; A Kitchen 

Colonel; in A New England 

Nun M. E. Wilkins-Freeman 

The White Silence; in The Son of the Wolf; also in 

Dawson's Great English Short Story 

Writers Jack London 

The Rose of Dixie; in Options O. Henry 

The Fourth in Salvador; in Roads of Destiny. . . O. Henry 

The Furnished Room; in The Four Million O. Henry 

A Branch Road; Up the Coule; in Main-Traveled 

Roads Hamlin Garland 

The Non-Combatant ; in Heart of Toil Octave Thanet 

The Trailer for Room No. 8; My Disreputable Friend, 

Mr. Raegen; in Gallegher Richard Harding Davis 

At Teague Poteet's ; in Mingo, and Other 

Sketches Joel Chandler Harris 

Every Day; in Doctor Rast James Oppenheim 

The South Devil; in Rodman, the 

Keeper Constance Fenimore Woolson 

The Java Entertainment; in Friendship Village Love 

Stories Zona Gale 

The Woman and Her Bonds ; in Wall Street 

Stories Edwin Lafevre 

A Few Diversions; Emotions of a Sub-guard; in 

Smith College Stories Josephine Dodge Daskam 

Rosy Balm; A Day Off; in The Country 

Road Alice Brown 

The King of the Broncos ; in The King of the 

Broncos Charles F. Lummis 

A Proposal during Shiva; in Toomey and 

Others Robert Shackleton 

The Betrothal of Elypholate; in The Betrothal of 

Elypholate Helen R. Martin 



NAMGAY DOOLA 77 

The Struggles and Triumphs of Isidro; in 

Caybigan James Hopper 

Drifting Down Lost Creek; in In the Tennessee 

Mountains Mary N. Murf ree 

The Lamp of Liberty; in The Soul of the 

Street Norman Duncan 

The Imported Bridegroom; in The Imported 

Bridegroom Abraham Cahan 

How Whalebone Caused a Wedding; The Colonel's 

Nigger Dog; in Tales of the Home 

Folks . . . ' Joel Chandler Harris 

Anner Lizer's Stumblin' Block ; in Folks from 

Dixie Paul Laurence Dunbar 

The Blue Ribbon at the County Fair; in The Mystery 

of Witch-Face Mountain Charles Egbert Craddock 



LOVE STORY 
TWO OF THEM 1 

By JAMES M. BARRIE 

She is a very pretty girl, though that counts for nothing 
with either of us, and her frock is yellow and brown, with 
pins here and there. Some of these pins are nearly a foot 
long, and when they are not in use she keeps them in her 
hat, through which she stabs them far down into her brain. 
This makes me shudder; but, so is she constructed that it 
does not seem to hurt, and in that human pin-cushion the 
daggers remain until it is time for her to put on her jacket 
again. Her size is six-and-a-quarter, and she can also get 
into sixes. 

She comes here occasionally (always looking as if she 
had been born afresh that morning) to sit in the big chair 
and discuss what sort of girl she is, with other matters 
of moment. When she suddenly flings herself forward — 
clasping her hands on her knee — and says ''Oh !" I know 
that she has remembered something which must out at once 
or endanger her health; and whether it be "I don't believe 
in anybody or anything — there !" or "Why do we die so 
soon?" or "I buy chocolate drops by the half-pound," 
I am expected to regard it, for the time being, as one of 
the biggest things of the day. I allow her, but no other, 
to mend my fire; and some of her most profound thoughts 
have come to her with a jerk while holding the poker. 

(1) From the volume of the same title, published 1893. 

78 



TWO OF THEM 79 

However, she is not always serious, for, though her face is 
often so wistful that to be within a yard of it is too close 
for safety, she sometimes jests gleefully, clapping her 
hands; but I never laugh, rather continue smoking hard; 
and this she (very properly) puts down to my lack of 
humor. The reason we get on so well is because I treat 
her exactly as if she were a man, as per agreement. Ours 
is a platonic friendship, 1 or, at least, was, for she went off 
half-an-hour ago with her head in the air. 

THE BARGAIN 

After only one glance in the mirror, she had spread 
herself out in the big chair, which seems to me to put its 
arms round her. Then this jumped out: 

"And I had thought you so trustworthy !" (She always 
begins in the middle.) 

"What have I done?" I asked, though I knew. 

"Yesterday," she said; "when you put me into that cab. 
Oh, you didn't do it, but you tried to." 

"Do what?" 

She screwed her mouth, whereupon I smoked hard, lest 
I should attempt to do it again; But she would have an 
answer. 

"Men are all alike," she said, indignantly. 

"And you actually think," I broke out, bitterly, "that 
if I did meditate such an act (for one brief moment), 
I was yielding to the wretched impulses to which other 
men give way ! Miss Gunnings, do you know me no better 
than that?" 

"I don't see what you mean," she replied. (Her direct- 
ness is sometimes a little annoying.) 

(1) platonic friendship: a purely intellectual friendship, without 
romance. 



80 THE SHOET STORY 

I wagged my head mournfully, and there ensued a pause, 
for I did not quite know what I meant myself. 

"What do you mean?" she asked, more gently, my face 
showing her that I was deeply hurt — not angrj^, but hurt. 

I laid my pipe on the mantelpiece, and speaking very 
sadly, proved to her that I had nothing in common with 
other young men, though I forget now how I proved it. If 
I seemed to act as they did my motives were quite different, 
and therefore I should be judged from another standpoint. 
Also I looked upon her as a child, while I felt very old. 
(There are six years between us.) 

"And now/' said I, with emotion, "as you still think 
that I tried to — to do it from the wretched, ordinary motive 
(namely, because I wanted to) I suppose you and I must 
part. I have explained the affair to you because it is pain- 
ful to me to be misunderstood. Good-by, I shall always 
think of you with sincere regard." 

Despite an apparent effort to control it, my voice broke. 
Then she gave way. She put her hand into mine, and with 
tears in her eyes, asked me to forgive her, which I did. 

This little incident it was that showed her how different 
I am from other men, and led to the drawing up of our 
platonic agreement, which we signed, so to speak, that 
afternoon over the poker. I promised to be to 'her such a 
friend as I am to Mr. Thomson; I even undertook, if 
necessary, to scold her though she cried (as she hinted 
she should probably do), and she was to see that it was 
for her good, just as Thomson sees it when I scold him. 

A NECESSARY CONSEQUENCE 

"I shall have to call you 'Mary/ " 
"I don't see that." 



TWO OF THEM 81 

"Yes, it is customary among real friends. They expect 
it of each other." 

I was not looking her in the face, so cannot tell how she 
took this at first. However, after she had eaten a chocolate 
drop in silence, she said : 

"But you don't call Mr. Thomson by his Christian 



name 



"Certainly I do." 

"And he would feel slighted if you did not?" 

"He would be extremely pained." 

"What is his Christian name?" 

"Thomson's Christian name? Oh, his Christian name. 
Thomson's Christian name is — ah — Harry." 

"But I thought his initials were J. T.? Those are the 
initials on that umbrella you never returned to him." 

"Is that so? Then my suspicions were correct, the 
umbrella is not his own. How like him!" 

"I had an idea that you merely called him Thomson?" 

"Before other people only. Men friends address each 
other in one way in company, but in quite another way 
when they are alone." 

"Oh, well, if it is customary." 

"If it were not I would not propose such a thing." 

Another chocolate drop, and then, 

"Mary, dear " 

"Dear!" 

"That is what I said." 

"I don't think it worthy of you. It is taking two choco- 
late drops when I only said you could have one." 

"Well, when I get my hand into the bag I admit — I — 
I mean Thomson would have not been so niggardly." 

"I am certain you don't call him 'Harry, dear.' " 

"Not, perhaps, as a rule, but at times man friends are 



82 THE SHORT STORY 

more demonstrative than you think them. For instance, 
if Thorn — I mean Harry — was ill " 

"But I am quite well." 

"Still, with all this influenza about " 

HER BACK 

She had put her jacket on the table, her chocolate drops 
on the mantelpiece, her gloves on the couch. Indeed, the 
room was full of her, and I was holding her scarf, just as 
I hold Thomson's. 

"I walked down Regent Street behind you yesterday," 
I said, sternly, "and your back told me that you were vain." 

"I am not vain of my personal appearance, at any rate." 

"How could you be?" 

She looked at me sharply, but my face was without 
expression, and she sighed. She remembered that I had 
no humor. 

"Whatever my faults are, and they are many, vanity i? 
not one of them." 

"When I said you had a bad temper you made the same 
remark about it. Also when " 

"That was last week, stupid! But, of course, if you 
think me ugly " 

"I did not say that." 

"Yes, you did." 

"But if you think nothing of your personal appearance, 
why blame me if I agree with you?" 

She rose haughtily. 

"Sit down." 

"I won't. Give me my scarf." Her eyes were flashing. 
She has all sorts of eyes. 

"If you realty want to know what I think of your per- 
sonal appearance " 



TWO OF THEM 83 

"I don't." 

I resumed my pipe. 

"Well?" she said. 

"Well?" 

"Oh, I thought you were going to say something." 

"Only that your back pleased me in certain other 
respects." 

She let the chair take her back into its embrace. 

"Mary, dear!" 

It is a fact that she was crying. After I had made a 
remark or two: 

"I am so glad you think me pretty/' she said, frankly, 
"for though I don't think so myself, I like other people 
to think it, and somehow I thought you considered me plain. 
My nose is all wrong, isn't it?" 

"Let me see." 

"So you admit you were entirely mistaken in calling 
me vain?" 

"You have proved that I was." 

However, after she had drawn the daggers out of her 
head and put them into the scarf (or whatever part of a 
lady's dress it is that is worked with daggers), and when 
the door had closed on her, she opened it and hurriedly 
fired these shots at me: 

"Yes, I am horridly vain — T do my hair every night 
before I go to bed — I was sure you admired me the very 
first time we met — I know I have a pretty nose — good- 
afternoon." 

HER SELFISHNESS 

She was making spills 1 for me, because those Thomson 
made for me had run down. 
"Mary." 

(1) spills i twists of paper, for lighting lamps, etc. 



84 THE SHORT STOEY 

"Well?" 

"Mary, dear !" 

"I am listening." 

"That is all." 

"You have such a curious, wasteful habit of saying one's 
name as if it was a remark by itself." 

"Yes, Thomson has noticed that also. However, I think 
I meant to add that it is very good of you to make those 
spills. I wonder if you would do something else for me?" 

"As a- friend?" 

"Yes. I want you to fill my pipe, and ram down the 
tobacco with your little finger." 

"You and Mr. Thomson do that for each other?" 

"Often." 

"Very well; give it me. This way?" 

"It smokes beautifully. You are a dear, good girl." 

She let the poker fall. 

"Oh, I'm not," she wailed. "I am not really kind- 
hearted; it is all selfishness." 

This came out with a rush, but I am used to her, and 
kept my pipe in. 

"Even my charities are only a hideous kind of selfish- 
ness," she continued, with clasped hands. "There is that 
poor man who sells match-boxes at the corner of this street, 
for instance. I sometimes give him twopence." (She 
carries an enormous purse, but there is never more than 
twopence in it.) 

"That is surely not selfish," I said. 

"It is," said she, seizing the poker as if intending to do 
for herself that instant. "I never give him anything 
simply because I see he needs it, but only occasionally 
when I feel happier than usual. I am only thinking of 
my own happiness when I give it him. That is the per- 
sonification of selfishness." 



• TWO OF THEM 85 

"Mary !" 

"Well, if that isn't, this is. I only give him something 
when I am passing him, at any rate. I never dream of 
crossing the street on purpose to do it. Oh, I should need 
to be terrifically happy before I would bother crossing to 
give him anything. There ! what do you think of me now?" 

"You gave him something on Monday when I was with 



YOU 



?" 



Yes. 
"Then you were happy at that time?" 
"What has that got to do with it?" 
"A great deal." 
I rose. 

"Mary, dear " 

"No ! Go and sit over there." 

STAGGERERS 

The subj ects we have discussed over the poker ! For 
instance : 

The rapidity with which we grow old. 

What on earth Mr. Meredith means by saying that 
woman will be the last thing civilized by man? 

Thomson. 

What will it all matter a hundred years hence? 

How strangely unlike other people we two are ! 

The nicest name for a woman. (Mary.) 

The mystery of Being and not Being. 

Why does Mary exist? 

Does Mary exist? 

She had come in, looking very doleful, and the reason 
was, that the more she thought it over, the less could she 
see why she existed. This came of reading a work entitled 
"Why Do We Exist?" — a kind of book that ought not to 



86 THE SHORT STORY 

be published, for it only makes people unhappy. Mary 
stared at the problem with wide, vexed eyes until I com- 
pelled her to wink by putting another in front of it, 
namely, "Do You Exist?" In her ignorance she thought 
there was no doubt of this, but I lent her a "Bishop 
Berkeley," 1 and since then she has taken to pinching herself 
on the sly, just to make sure that she is still there. 

HER SCARF 

So far I had not (as will have been noticed) by a word 
or look or sign broken the agreement which rendered our 
platonic friendship possible. I had not even called her 
darling, and this because, having reflected a good deal on 
the subject, I could not persuade myself that this was one 
of my ways of addressing Thomson. And I would have 
continued the same treatment had it not been for her scarf, 
which has proved beyond all bearing. That scarf is 
entirely responsible for what happened today. 

It is a stripe of faded terra-cotta, and she ties it round 
her mouth before going out into the fog. Her face is then 
sufficiently irritating, but I could endure it by looking 
another way, did she not recklessly make farewell remarks, 
through the scarf, which is very thin. Then her mouth — 
in short, I can't put up with this. 

I had warned her repeatedly. But she was like a mad 
girl, or, perhaps, she did not understand my meaning. 

"Don't come near me with that thing round your mouth," 
I have told her a dozen times. I have refused firmly to 
tie it for her. I have put the table between me and it, 
and she asked why (through the scarf). She was quite 
mad. 

(1) Bishop Berkeley : an English philosopher who held that there 
are no realities except * thoughts. 



TWO OF THEM 87 

And today, when I was feeling rather strange at any 
rate ! It all occurred in a moment. 

"Don't attempt to speak with that scarf round you/' 
I had said, and said it with my back to her. 

"You think. I can't, because it is too tight?" she asked. 

"Go away/' I said. 

She turned me round. 

"Why," she said, wonderingly, "it is quite loose. I 
believe I could whistle through it." 

She did whistle through it. That finished our platonic 
friendship. 

FIVE MINUTES AFTERWARD 

I spoke wildly, fiercely, exultingly; and she, all the 
time, was trying to put on her jacket, and could not find 
the sleeve. 

"It was your own fault; but I am glad. I warned you. 
Cry away. I like to see you crying." 

"I hate you !" 

"No, you don't." 

"A friend " 

"Friend! Pooh! Bah! Pshaw!" 

"Mr. Thomson " 

"Thomson ! Tut ! Thomson ! His Christian name isn't 
Harry. I don't know what it is. I don't care!" 

"You said " 

"It was a lie. Don't screw your mouth in that way." 

"I will if I like." 

"I warn you !" 

"I don't care. Oh! Oh!" 

"I warned you." 

"Now I know you in your true colors." 

"You do, and I glory in it. Platonic friendship — 



88 THE SHOET STORY 

fudge ! I quarrelled with you that time to be able to hold 
your hands when we made it up. When you thought I 

was reading your character I Don't — screw — your — 

mouth!" 

"Give me my scarf." 

"I lent you Berkeley so that I could take hold of you 
by the shoulders on the pretence that I was finding out 
whether you existed." 

"Good-by forever!" 

"All the time we were discussing the mystery of Being 
I was thinking how much I should like to put my hands 
beneath your chin and flick it." 

"If you ever dare to speak to me again " 

"Don't — screw — your — mouth. And I would rather put 
my fingers through your hair than write the greatest 
poem in " 

She was gone, leaving the scarf behind her. 

My heart sank. I flung open my window (six hansoms 1 
came immediately), and I could have jumped after her. 
But I did not. What I saw had a remarkable effect on my 
spirits. I saw her cross the street on purpose to give 
twopence to the old man who sells the matches. 

All's well with the world. As soon as I can lay down 
the scarf I am going west to the house where Mary, dear, 
lives. 

editor's note 

The rapid movement of this story, and the large part 
that is in dialogue form, suggest a scene from a play rather 
than a story. In marked contrast to the preceding storv, 
we have here almost no setting, almost no description. We 
read to the end without learning when or where the events 
take place. Does it matter? For the story does not deal 
with externals but with feeling: time and place are unim- 

(1) hansom : a two-wheeled cab. 



TWO OF THEM 89 

portant. It is once more the problem of producing a single 
effect. Barrie could have added local color in splashes 
had he wished, but his purpose was to show the play of 
emotion between two natures, each masking it under another 
name. To accomplish this in the limited space of the short 
story he omits everything else. 

The story shows Barrie's sympathetic knowledge of 
feminine moods, his light touch, and his humor. The way 
the girl's dress is described — "her frock is yellow and 
brown, with pins here and there," — is far enough from 
some of the elaborate descriptions of clothes in stories, 
yet it is the way most men would tell it. The story is 
noteworthy too for its use of suggestion: much is read 
between the lines. 

In general, the short story uses love as its dominant 
interest less frequently than does the novel. Magazine 
editors say that good short love stories are the hardest 
kind to get. This may be due to the fact that the awaken- 
ing of love, its development, and its outcome are difficult 
to compress within so short a space. The story just given 
plays upon the surface — rather than treating the theme 
seriously. But if love is not usually the dominant interest 
in the short story, it is very often the secondary interest. 
In "The^ Sire de Maletroit's Door" for example, it is 
effectively introduced in a story of adventure; in Thomas 
Nelson Page's "Meh Lady" it is the secondary theme in a 
story of local color; in H. C. Bunner's "The Love Letters 
of Smith" it is subordinated to humor; Hawthorne's "Rap- 
pacini's Daughter" is a story of the supernatural with a 
love interest; Irving's "Legend of Sleepy Hollow," a tale, 
has local color, the supernatural, and love as its three 
interests. 



90 THE SHORT STORY 

REPRESENTATIVE LOVE STORIES 

Monsieur Beaucaire; in Monsieur 

Beaucaire Booth Tarkington 

The Courting of Dinah Shadd; On Greenhow Hill; in 

Life's Handicap Rudyard Kipling 

The Gift of the Magi; in The Four Million; Hearts 

and Crosses; in Heart of the West; Best Seller; 

in Options O. Henry 

Drowne's Wooden Image; in Mosses From an Old 

Manse Nathaniel Hawthorne 

Cupid and Psyche; in Marius the Epicurean; also in 

Jessup's The Booh of the Short Story Walter Pater 

Broken Wings; in The Better Sort Henry James 

Gertha's Lovers; A Dream; in Early Prose 

Romances William Morris 

The Wreck; The Journey; in The Odd 

Number Guy de Maupassant 

The Auction; in Country Neighbors Alice Brown 

A Discovered Pearl; The Scent of the Roses; in 

A New England Nun ,M. E. Wilkins-Freeman 

She of the Triple Chevron ; in Pierre and His 

People Gilbert Parker 

A Valentine; in Pratt Portraits. Anna Fuller 

The Fleece of Gold; in Little French 

Masterpieces Th. Gautier 

The Joy of Youth; in The Winning 

Lady M. E. Wilkins-Freeman 

" Bro/'; in Rodman, the Keeper C. F. Woolson 

Different; in Friendship Village Love Stories. . .Zona Gale 



STORY OF ROMANTIC ADVENTURE 
THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR 1 . 

By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

Denis de Beaulieu was not yet two-and-twenty, but he 
counted himself a grown man, and a very accomplished 
cavalier into the bargain. Lads were early formed in that 
rough, warf aring epoch ; and when one has been in a 
pitched battle and a dozen raids, has killed one's man in an 
honorable fashion, and knows a thing or two of strategy 
and mankind, a certain swagger in the gait is surely to be 
pardoned. He had put up his horse with due care, and 
supped with due deliberation; and then, in a very agree- 
able frame of mind, went out to pay a visit in the gray 
of the evening. It was not a very wise proceeding on the 
young man's part. He would have done better to remain 
beside the fire or go decently to bed. For the town was 
full of the troops of Burgundy and England under a mixed 
command ; and though Denis was there on safe-conduct, his 
safe-conduct was like to serve him little on a chance 
encounter. 

It was September, 1429; the weather had fallen sharp; 
a flighty piping wind, laden with showers, beat about the 
township ; and the dead leaves ran riot along the streets. 
Here and there a window was already lighted up; and the 
noise of men-at-arms making merry over supper within, 
came forth in fits and was swallowed up and carried away 

(1) From New Arabian Nights, published 1882. 

91 



92 THE SHOET STOKY 

by the wind. The night fell swiftly; the flag of England, 
fluttering on the spire top, grew ever fainter and fainter 
against the flying clouds — a black speck like a swallow in 
the tumultuous, leaden chaos of the sky. As the night fell 
the wind rose, and began to hoot under archways and roar 
amid the tree-tops in the valley below the town. 

Denis de Beaulieu walked fast and was soon knocking 
at his friend's door; but though he promised himself to 
stay only a little while and make an early return, his 
welcome was so pleasant, and he found so much to delay 
him, that it was alreadjr long past midnight before he said 
good-bye upon the threshold. The wind had fallen again 
in the meanwhile; the night was as black as the grave; 
not a star, nor a glimmer of moonshine, slipped through 
the canopy of cloud. Denis was ill-acquainted with the 
intricate lanes of Chateau Landon; even by daylight he 
had found some trouble in picking his way; and in this 
absolute darkness he soon lost it altogether. He was 
certain of one thing only — to keep mounting the hill; for 
his friend's house lay at the lower end, or tail, of Chateau 
Landon, while the inn was up at the head, under the great 
church spire. With this clew to go upon he stumbled and 
groped forward, now breathing more freely in the open 
places where there was a good slice of sky overhead, now 
feeling along the wall in stifling closes. It is an eerie and 
mysterious position to be thus submerged in opaque black- 
ness in an almost unknown town. The silence is terrifying 
in its possibilities. The touch of cold window bars to 
the exploring hand startles the man like a touch of a toad; 
the inequalities of the pavement shake his heart into his 
mouth; a piece of denser darkness threatens an ambuscade 
or a chasm in the pathway; and where the air is brighter, 
the houses put on strange and bewildering appearances, as 



THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR 93 

if to lead him further from his way. For Denis, who had 
to regain his inn without attracting notice, there was real 
danger as well as mere discomfort in the walk; and he 
went warily and boldly at once, and at every corner 
paused to make an observation. 

He had been for some time threading a lane so narrow 
that he could touch a wall with either hand, when it began 
to open out and go sharply downward. Plainly this lay no 
longer in the direction of his inn; but the hope of a little 
more light tempted him forward to reconnoiter. The lane 
ended in a terrace with a bartizan 1 wall, which gave an out- 
look between high houses, as out of an embrasure, into the 
valley lying dark and formless several hundred feet below. 
Denis looked down, and could discern a few tree-tops wav- 
ing and a single speck of brightness where the river ran 
across a weir. The weather was clearing up, and the sky 
had lightened, so as to show the outline of the heavier 
clouds and the dark margin of the hills. By the uncertain 
glimmer, the house on his left hand should be a place of 
some pretensions ; it was surmounted by several pinnacles 
and turret-tops ; the round stern of a chapel, with a fringe 
of flying buttresses, projected boldly from the main block; 
and the door was sheltered under a deep porch carved 
with figures and overhung by two long gargoyles. 2 The 
windows of the chapel gleamed through their intricate 
tracery with a light as of many tapers, and threw out the 
buttresses and the peaked roof in a more intense blackness 
against the sky. It was plainly the hotel 3 of some great 
family of the neighborhood; and as it reminded Denis 

(1) bartizan: a small turret projecting at an angle of a wall. 

(2) gargoyle : a spout projecting from the gutter of a building, 
often carved into the forms of animals or men, the water issuing 
from the mouth. 

(3) hotel: French for a private residence of considerable size. 



94 THE SHORT STORY 

of a town house of his own at Bourges, he stood for some 
time gazing up at it and mentally gauging the skill of the 
architects and the consideration of the two families. 

There seemed to be no issue to the terrace but the lane 
by which he had reached it; he could only retrace his steps, 
but he had gained some notion of his whereabouts, and 
hoped by this means to hit the main thoroughfare and 
speedily regain the inn. He was reckoning without that 
chapter of accidents which was to make this night mem- 
orable above all others in his career; for he had not gone 
back above a hundred yards before he saw a light coming 
to meet him, and heard loud voices speaking together in 
the echoing narrows of the lane. It was a party of men- 
at-arms going the night round with torches. Denis assured 
himself that they had all been making free with the wine- 
bowl, and were in no mood to be particular about safe- 
conducts or the niceties of chivalrous war. It was as like 
as not that they would kill him like a dog and leave him 
where he fell. The situation was inspiriting but nervous. 
Their own torches would conceal him from sight, he re- 
flected; and he hoped that they would drown the noise of 
his footsteps with their own empty voices. If he were but 
fleet and silent, he might evade t^eir notice altogether. 

Unfortunately, as he turned to beat a retreat, his foot 
rolled upon a pebble ; he fell against the wall with an ej ac- 
ulation, and his sword rung loudly on the stones. Two or 
three voices demanded who went there — some in French, 
some in English; but Denis made no reply, and ran the 
faster down the lane. Once upon the terrace, he paused 
to look back. They still kept calling after him, and just 
then began to double the pace in pursuit, with a consider- 
able clank of armor, and great tossing of the torchlight to 
and fro in the narrow jaws of the passage- 
Denis cast a look around and darted into the porch. 



THE SIEE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR 95 

There he might escape observation, or — if that were too 
much to expect — was in a capital posture whether for par- 
ley or defense. So thinking, he drew his sword and tried 
to set his back against the door. To his surprise it yielded 
behind his weight; and though he turned in a moment, 
continued to swing back on oiled and noiseless hinges until 
it stood wide open on a black interior. When things fall 
out opportunely for the person concerned, he is not apt to 
be critical about the how or why, his own immediate per- 
sonal convenience seeming a sufficient reason for the 
strangest oddities and revolutions in our sublunary things; 
and so Denis, without a moment's hesitation, stepped 
within, and partly closed the door behind him to conceal 
his place of refuge. Nothing was further from his thoughts 
than to close it altogether; but for some inexplicable 
reason — perhaps by a spring or a weight — the ponderous 
mass of oak whipped itself out of his fingers and clanked 
to, with a formidable rumble and a noise like the falling 
of an automatic bar. 

The round, at that very moment, debouched upon the 
terrace and proceeded to summon him with shouts and 
curses. He heard them ferreting in the dark corners; the 
stock of a lance even rattled along the outer surface of the 
door behind which he stood; but these gentlemen were in 
too high a humor to be long delayed, and soon made off 
down a corkscrew pathway which had escaped Denis' 
observation, and passed out of sight and hearing along 
the battlements of the town. 

Denis breathed again. He gave them a few minutes' 
grace for fear of accidents, and then groped about for 
some means of opening the door and slipping forth again. 
The inner surface was quite smooth, not a handle, not a 
molding, not a projection of any, sort. He got his finger- 
nails round the edges and pulled, but the mass was im- 



96 THE SIIOET STOEY 

movable. He shook it, it was as firm as a rock. Denis de 
Beaulieu frowned and gave vent to a little noiseless whistle. 
What ailed the door, he wondered. Why was it open? 
How came it to shut so easily and so effectually after him? 
There was something obscure and underhand about all 
this, that was little to the young man's fancy. It looked 
like a snare, and yet who could suppose a snare in such a 
quiet by-street and in a house of so prosperous and even 
noble an exterior? And yet — snare or no snare, intention- 
ally or unintentionally — here he was, prettily trapped; and 
for the life of him he could see no way out of it again. 
The darkness began to weigh upon him. He gave ear; all 
was silent without, but within and close by he seemed to 
catch a faint sighing, a faint sobbing rustle, a little stealth}' 
creak — as though many persons were at his side, holding 
themselves quite still, and governing even their respiration 
with the extreme of slyness. The idea went to his vitals 
with a shock, and he faced about suddenly as if to defend 
his life. Then, for the first time, he became aware of a 
light about-the level of his eyes and at some distance in the 
interior of the house — a vertical thread of light, widening 
toward the bottom, such as might escape between two 
wings of arras 1 over a doorway. 

To see anything was a relief to Denis; it was like a 
piece of solid ground to a man laboring in a morass; his 
mind seized upon it with avidity ; and he stood staring at it 
and trying to piece together some logical conception of his 
surroundings. Plainly there was a flight of steps ascend- 
ing from his own level to that of this illuminated doorway, 
and indeed he thought he could make out another thread 
of light, as fine as a needle and as faint as phosphores- 
cence, which might very well be reflected along the polished 
wood of a handrail. Since he had begun to suspect that 

(1) arras: tapestry or other hangings. 



THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR 97 

he was not alone, his heart had continued to beat with 
smothering violence, and an intolerable desire for action 
of any sort had possessed itself of his spirit. He was in 
deadly peril, he believed. What could be more natural 
than to mount the staircase, lift the curtain, and confront 
his difficulty at once? At least he would be dealing with 
something tangible; at least he would be no longer in the 
dark. He stepped slowly forward with outstretched hands, 
until his foot struck the bottom step ; then he rapidly scaled 
the stairs, stood for a moment to compose his expression, 
lifted the arras and went in. 

He found himself in a large apartment of polished 
stone. There were three doors ; one on each of three sides ; 
all similarly curtained with tapestry. The fourth side 
was occupied by two large windows and a great stone 
chimney-piece, carved with the arms of the Maletroits. 
Denis recognized the bearings, and was gratified to find 
himself in such good hands. The room was strongly illumi- 
nated ; but it contained little furniture except a heavy table 
and a chair or two, the hearth was innocent of fire, and 
the pavement was but sparsely strewn with rushes 1 clearly 
many days old. 

On a high chair beside the chimney, and directly facing 
Denis as he entered, sat a little old gentleman in a fur 
tippet. He sat with his legs crossed and his hands folded, 
and a cup of spiced wine stood by his elbow on a bracket on 
the wall. His countenance had a strong masculine cast; 
not properly human, but such as we see in the bull, the 
goat, or the domestic boar; something equivocal and 
wheedling, something greedy, brutal, and dangerous. The 
upper lip was inordinately full, as though swollen by a 
blow or a toothache; and the smile, the peaked eyebrows, 
and the small, strong eyes were quaintly and almost 

(.1) rushes: often used as a floor covering in the Middle Ages. 



98 THE SHOET STORY 

comically evil in expression. Beautiful white hair hung 
straight all round his head, like a saint's, and fell in a 
single curl upon the tippet. His beard and mustache were 
the pink of venerable sweetness. Age, probably in conse- 
quence of inordinate precautions, had left no mark upon his 
hands; and the Maletroit hand was famous. It would be 
difficult to imagine anything at once so fleshy and so deli- 
cate in design; the taper, sensual fingers were like those 
of one of Leonardo's 1 women; the fork of the thumb made 
a dimpled protuberance when closed; the nails were per- 
fectly shaped, and of a dead, surprising whiteness. It ren- 
dered his aspect tenfold more redoubtable, that a man 
with hands like these should keep them devoutly folded 
like a virgin martyr — that a man with so intent and start- 
ling an expression of face should sit patiently on his seat 
and contemplate people with an unwinking stare, like a 
god, or a god's statue. His quiescence seemed ironical 
and treacherous, it fitted so poorly with his looks. 

Such was Alain, Sire 2 de Maletroit. 

Denis and he looked silently at each other for a second 
or two. 

"Pray step in," said the Sire de Maletroit. "I have 
been expecting yt>u all the evening." 

He had not risen but he accompanied his words with a 
smile and a slight but courteous inclination of the head. 
Partly from the smile, partly from the strange musical 
murmur with which the sire prefaced his observation, Denis 
felt a strong shudder of disgust go through his marrow. 
And what with disgust and honest confusion of mind, he 
could scarcely get words together in reply. 

"I fear," he said, "that this is a double accident. I am 
not the person you suppose me. It seems you were look- 

(1) Leonardo : Leonardo da Vinci, painter of the Mona Lisa. 

(2) Sire de Maletroit: Lord Maletroit. 



THE SIRE DE MALETEOIT'S DOOR 99 

ing for a visit; but for my part, nothing was further from 
my thoughts — nothing could be more contrary to my 
wishes — than this intrusion." 

"Well, well/' replied the old gentleman indulgently, 
"here you are, which is the main point. Seat yourself, my 
friend, and put yourself entirely at your ease. We shall 
arrange our little affairs presently." 

Denis perceived that the matter was still complicated 
with some misconception, and he hastened to continue his 
explanations. 

"Your door," he began. 

"About my door?" asked the other, raising his peaked 
eyebrows. "A little piece of ingenuity." And he shrugged 
his shoulders. "A hospitable fancy ! By your own account, 
you were not desirous of making my acquaintance. We old 
people look for such reluctance now and then; when it 
touches our honor, we cast about until we find some way 
of overcoming it. You arrive uninvited, but believe me, 
very welcome." 

"You persist in error, sir," said Denis. "There can be 
no question between you and me. I am a stranger in this 
countryside. My name is Denis, damoiseau 1 de Beaulieu. 
If you see me in your house it is only " 

"My young friend," interrupted the other, "you will 
permit me to have my own ideas on that subject. They 
probably differ from yours at the present moment," he 
added with a leer, "but time will show which of us is in the 
right." 

Denis was convinced he had to do with a lunatic. He 
seated himself with a shrug, content to wait the upshot; 
and a pause ensued, during which he thought he could 
distinguish a hurried gabbling as of a prayer from behind 

(1) damoiseau: a young man of the Beaulieu family. The word 
implies noble rank. 



100 THE SHORT STORY 

the arras immediately opposite him. Sometimes there 
seemed to be but one person engaged, sometimes two; and 
the vehemence of the voice, low as it was, seemed to indi- 
cate either great haste or an agony of spirit. It occurred 
to him that this piece of tapestry covered the entrance to 
the chapel he had noticed from without. 

The old gentleman meanwhile surveyed Denis from head 
to foot with a smile, and from .time to time emitted little 
noises like a bird or a mouse, which seemed to indicate a 
high degree of satisfaction. This state of matters became 
rapidly insupportable; and Denis, to put an end to it, 
remarked politely that the wind had gone down. 

The old gentleman fell into a fit of silent laughter, so 
prolonged and violent, that he became quite red in the face. 
Denis got upon his feet at once, and put on his hat with a 
flourish. 

"Sir," he said, "if you are in your wits, you have af- 
fronted me grossly. If you are out of them, I flatter my- 
self I can find better employment for my brains than to 
talk with lunatics. My conscience is clear; you have made 
a fool of me from the first moment; you have refused to 
hear my explanations; and now there is no power under 
God will make me stay here any longer; and if I cannot 
make my way out in a more decent fashion, I will hack 
your door in pieces with my sword." 

The Sire de Maletroit raised his right hand and wagged 
it at Denis with the fore and little fingers extended. 

"My dear nephew," he said, "sit down." 

"Nephew!" retorted Denis, "you lie in your throat"; and 
he snapped his fingers in his face. 

"Sit down, you rogue !" cried the old gentleman, in a 
sudden, harsh voice, like the barking of a dog. "Do you 
fancy," he went on, "that when I had made my little con- 
trivance for the door I had stopped short with that? If 



THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR 101 

you prefer to be bound hand and foot till your bones ache, 
rise and try to go away. If you choose to remain a free 
young buck, agreeably conversing with an old gentleman — 
why, sit where you are in peace, and God be with you." 

"Do you mean I am a prisoner?" demanded Denis. 

"I state the facts/' replied the other. "I would rather 
leave the conclusion to yourself." 

Denis sat down again. Externally he managed to keep 
pretty calm, but within, he was now boiling with anger, 
now chilled with apprehension. He no longer felt con- 
vinced that he was dealing with a madman. And if the old 
gentleman was sane, what, in God's name, had he to look 
for? What absurd or tragical adventure had befallen 
him? What countenance was he to assume? 

While he was thus unpleasantly reflecting, the arras that 
overhung the chapel door was raised, and a tall priest in 
his robes came forth, and, giving a long, keen stare at 
Denis, said something in an undertone to Sire de Maletroit. 

"She is in a better frame of spirit?" asked the latter. 

"She is more resigned, messire," 1 replied the priest. 

"Now, the Lord help her, she is hard to please !" sneered 
the old gentleman. "A likely stripling — not ill-born — and 
of her own choosing, too! Why, what more would the 
jade have?" 

"The situation is not usual for a young damsel," said 
the other, "and somewhat trying to her blushes." 

"She should have thought of that before she began the 
dance! It was none of my choosing, God knows that; but 
since she is in it, by our Lady, she shall carry it to the 
end." And then addressing Denis, "Monsieur de 
Beaulieu," he asked, "may I present you to my niece? She 
has been waiting your arrival, I may say, with even greater 
impatience than myself." 

(1) messire : my lord. 



102 THE SHOKT STORY 

Denis had resigned himself with a good grace — all he 
desired was to know the worst of it as speedily as possible ; 
so he rose at once, and bowed in acquiescence. The Sire 
de Maletroit followed his example and limped, with the 
assistance of the chaplain's arm, toward the chapel door. 
The priest pulled aside the arras, and all three entered. 
The building had considerable architectural pretensions. 
A light groining sprung from six stout columns, and hung 
down in two rich pendants from the center of the vault. 
The place terminated behind the altar in a round end, 
embossed and honeycombed with a superfluity of ornament 
in relief, and pierced by many little windows shaped like 
stars, trefoils, or wheels. These windows were imperfectly 
glazed, so that the night air circulated freely in the chapel. 
The tapers, of which there must have been half a hundred 
burning on the altar, were unmercifully blown about; and 
the light went through many different phases of brilliancy 
and semi-eclipse. On the steps in front of the altar knelt a 
young girl richly attired as a bride. A chill settled over 
Denis as he observed her costume; he fought with desper- 
ate energy against the conclusion that was being thrust 
upon his mind; it could not — it should not — be as he 
feared. 

"Blanche," said the sire, in his most flute-like tones, "I 
have brought a friend to see you, my little girl; turn round 
and give him your pretty hand. It is good to be devout; 
but it is necessary to be polite, my niece." 

The girl rose to* her feet and turned toward the new- 
comers. She moved all of a piece; and shame and exhaus- 
tion were expressed in every line of her fresh young body; 
and she held her head down and kept her eyes upon the 
pavement, as she came slowly forward. In the course of 
her advance her eyes fell upon Denis de Beaulieu's feet — 
feet of which he was justly vain, be it remarked, and wore 



THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR 103 

in the most elegant accouterment even while traveling. 
She paused — started, as if his yellow boots had conveyed 
some shocking meaning — and glanced suddenly up into the 
wearer's countenance. Their eyes met; shame gave place 
to horror and terror in her looks; the blood left her lips, 
with a piercing scream she covered her face with her hands 
and sank upon the chapel floor. 

"That is not the man!" she cried. "My uncle, that is 
not the man!" 

The Sire de Maletroit chirped agreeably. "Of course 
not," he said; "I expected as much. It was so unfortu- 
nate you could not remember his name." 

"Indeed," she cried, "indeed, I have never seen this 
person till this moment — I have never so much as set eyes 
upon him — I never wish to see him again. Sir," she said, 
turning to Denis, "if you are a gentleman, you will bear 
me out. Have I ever seen you — have you ever seen me — 
before this accursed hour?" 

"To speak for myself, I have never had that pleasure," 
answered the young man. "This is the first time, messire, 
that I have met with your engaging niece." 

The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders. 

"I am distressed to hear it," he said. "But it is never 
too late to begin. I had little more acquaintance with my 
own late lady ere I married her; which proves," he added, 
with a grimace, "that these impromptu marriages may often 
produce an excellent understanding in the long run. As 
the bridegroom is to have a voice in the matter, I will give 
him two hours to make up for lost time before we proceed 
with the ceremony." And he turned toward the door, 
followed by the clergyman. 

The girl was on her feet in a moment. "My uncle, you 
cannot be in earnest," she said. "I declare before God I 
will stab myself rather than be forced on that young man. 



104 THE SHORT STORY 

The heart rises at it; God forbids such marriages; you 
dishonor your white hair. Oh, my uncle, pity me ! There 
is not a woman in all the world but would prefer death 
to such a nuptial. Is it possible/' she added, faltering — 
"is it possible that you do not believe me — that you still 
think this" — and she pointed at Denis with a tremor of 
anger and contempt — "that you still think this to be the 
man?" 

"Frankly," said the old gentleman, pausing on the 
threshold, "I do. But let me explain to you once for all, 
Blanche de Maletroit, my way of thinking about this affair. 
When you took it into your head to dishonor my family 
and the name that I have borne, in peace and war, for 
more than threescore years, you forfeited, not only the 
right to question my designs, but that of looking me in the 
face. If your father had been alive, he would have spat on 
you and turned you out of doors. His was the hand of 
iron. You may bless your God you have only to deal with 
the hand of velvet, mademoiselle. It was my duty to get 
you married without delay. Out of pure good-will, I have 
tried to find your own gallant for you. And I believe I 
have succeeded. But before God and all the holy angels, 
Blanche de Maletroit, if I have not, I care not one jack- 
straw. So let me recommend you to be polite to our young 
friend; for, upon my word, your next groom may be less 
appetizing." 

And with that he went out, with the chaplain at his 
heels; and the arras fell behind the pair. 

The girl turned upon Denis with flashing eyes. 

"And what, sir," she demanded, "may be the meaning 
of all this?" 

"God knows," returned Denis, gloomily. "I am a pris- 
oner in this house, which seems full of mad people. More 
I know not; and nothing do I understand/' 



THE SIRE DE MALETEOIT'S DOOR 105 

"And pray how came you here?" she asked. 

He told her as briefly as he could. "For the rest/' he 
added, "perhaps you will follow my example, and tell me 
the answer to all these riddles, and what, in God's name, is 
like to be the end of it." 

She stood silent for a little, and he could see her lips 
tremble and her tearless eyes burn with a feverish luster. 
Then she pressed her forehead in both hands. 

"Alas, how my head aches !" she said, wearily — "to say 
nothing of my poor heart! But it is due to you to know 
my story, unmaidenly as it must seem. I am called 
Blanche de Maletroit ; I have been without father or mother 
for — oh ! for as long as I can recollect, and indeed I have 
been most unhappy all my life. Three months ago a young 
captain began to stand near me every day in church. I 
could see that I pleased him; I am much to blame, but I 
was so glad that any one should love me; and when he 
passed me a letter, I took it home with me and read it 
with great pleasure. Since that time he has written 
many. He was so anxious to speak with me, poor fellow! 
and kept asking me to leave the door open some evening 
that we might have two words upon the stair. For he 
knew how much my uncle trusted me." She gave some- 
thing like a sob at that, and it was a moment before she 
could go on. "My uncle is a hard man, but he is very 
shrewd," she said at last. "He has performed many 
feats in war, and was a great person at court, and much 
trusted by Queen Isabeau in old days. How he came to 
suspect me I cannot tell; but it is hard to keep anything 
from his knowledge; and this morning, as we came from 
mass, he took my hand in his, forced it open, and read 
my little billet, walking by my side all the while. 

"When he finished, he gave it back to me with great 
politeness. It contained another request to have the door 



106 THE SHORT STORY 

left open; and this has been the ruin of us all. My uncle 
kept me strict!}' in my room until evening, and then 
ordered me to dress myself as you see me — a hard mockery 
for a young girl, do you not think so? I suppose, when 
he could not prevail with me to tell him the young captain's 
name, he must have laid a trap for him; into which, alas! 
you have fallen in the anger of God. I looked for much 
confusion; for how could I tell whether he was willing to 
take me for his wife on these sharp terms ? He might have 
been trifling with me from the first; or I might have made 
myself too cheap in his eyes. But truly I had not looked 
for such a shameful punishment as this ! I could not think 
that God would let a girl be so disgraced before a young 
man. And now I tell you all ; and I can scarcely hope that 
you will not despise me." 

Denis made her a respectful inclination. 

"Madam," he said, "you have honored me by your con- 
fidence. It remains for me to prove that I am not un- 
worthy of the honor. Is Messire de Maletroit at hand?" 

"I believe he is writing in the salle 1 without," she 
answered. 

"May I lead you thither, madam?" asked Denis, offering 
his hand with his most courtly bearing. 

She accepted it; and the pair passed out of the chapel, 
Blanche in a very drooping and shamefast condition, but 
Denis strutting and ruffling in the consciousness of a mis- 
sion, and the boyish certainty of accomplishing it with 
honor. 

The Sire de Maletroit rose to meet them with an ironical 
obeisance. 

"Sir," said Denis, with the grandest possible air, "I 
believe I am to have some say in the matter of this mar- 
riage; and let me tell you at once, I will be no party to 

(1) salle : large room, hall. 



THE SIRE DE MALETKOIT'S DOOR 107 

forcing the inclination of this young lady. Had it been 
freely offered to me, I should have been proud to accept 
her hand, for I perceive she is as good as she is beautiful; 
but as things are, I have now the honor, messire, of 
refusing." 

Blanche looked at him with gratitude in her eyes; but 
the old gentleman only smiled and smiled, until his smile 
grew positively sickening to Denis. 

"I am afraid," he said, "Monsieur de Beaulieu, that you 
do not perfectly understand the choice I have offered you. 
Follow me, I beseech you, to this window." And he led 
the way to one of the large windows which stood open on 
the night. "You observe," he went on, "there is an iron 
ring in the upper masonry, and reeved through that, a very 
efficacious rope. Xow, mark my words: if you should find 
your disinclination to my niece's person insurmountable, I 
shall have jou hanged out of this window before sunrise. 
I shall only proceed to such an extremity with the greatest 
regret, you may believe me. For it is not at all your death 
that I desire, but my niece's establishment in life. At the 
same time, it must come to that if you prove obstinate. 
Your family, Monsieur de Beaulieu, is very well in its way, 
but if you sprung from Charlemagne, you should not refuse 
the hand of a Maletroit with impunity — not if she had been 
as common as the Paris road — not if she was as hideous 
as the gargoyle over my door. Neither my niece nor you, 
nor my own private feelings, move me at all in this mat- 
ter. The honor of my house has been compromised; I be- 
lieve you to be the guilty person, at least you are now in 
the secret; and you can hardly wonder if I request you to 
wipe out the stain. If you will not, your blood be on your 
own head ! It will be no great satisfaction to me to have 
your interesting relics kicking their heels in the breeze 
below my windows, but half a loaf is better than no bread, 



108 THE SHOET STOEY 

and if I cannot cure the dishonor, I shall at lea3t stop the 
scandal." 

There was a pause. 

"I believe there are other ways of settling such imbrog- 
lios among gentlemen," said Denis. "You wear a sword, 
and I hear you have used it with distinction." 

The Sire de Maletroit made a signal to the chaplain, who 
crossed the room with long silent strides and raised the 
arras over the third of the three doors. It was only a 
moment before he let it fall again; but Denis had time 
to see a dusky passage full of armed men. 

"When I was a little younger, I should have been de- 
lighted to honor you, Monsieur de Beaulieu," said Sire 
Alain; "but I am now too old. Faithful retainers are the 
sinews of age, and I must employ the strength I have. 
This is one of the hardest things to swallow as a man 
grows up in years; but with a little patience, even this 
becomes habitual. You and the lady seem to prefer the 
salle for what remains of your two hours ; and as I have no 
desire to cross your preference, I shall resign it to your 
use with all the pleasure in the world. No haste!" he 
added, holding up his hand, as he saw a dangerous look 
come into Denis de Beaulieu's face. "If your mind revolt 
against hanging, it will be time enough two hours hence to 
throw yourself out of the window or upon the pikes of my 
retainers. Two hours of life are always two hours. A 
great many things may turn up in even as little a while as 
that. And, besides, if I understand her appearance, my 
niece has something to say to you. You will not disfigure 
your last hours by a want of politeness to a lady?" 

Denis looked at Blanche, and she made him an imploring 
gesture. 

It is likely that the old gentleman was hugely pleased 
at this symptom of an understanding; for he smiled on 



THE SIRE DE MALETROIT 'S DOOR 109 

both, and added sweetly: "If you will give me your word 
of honor, Monsieur de Beaulieu, to await my return at the 
end of the two hours before attempting anything desper- 
ate, I shall withdraw my retainers, and let you speak in 
greater privacy with mademoiselle." 

Denis again glanced at the girl, who seemed to beseech 
him to agree. 

"I give you my word of honor," he said. 

Messire de Maletroit bowed, and proceeded to limp about 
the apartment, clearing his throat the while with that odd 
musical chirp which had already grown so irritating in the 
ears of Denis de Beaulieu. He first possessed himself of 
some papers which lay upon the table; then he went to the 
mouth of the passage and appeared to give an order to the 
men behind the arras; and lastly he hobbled out through 
the door by which Denis had come in, turning upon the 
threshold to address a last smiling bow to the young couple, 
and followed by the chaplain with a hand-lamp. 

No sooner were they alone than Blanche advanced 
toward Denis with her hands extended. Her face was 
flushed and excited, and her eyes shone with tears. 

"You shall not die !" she cried, "you shall marry me 
after all." 

"You seem to think, madam," replied Denis, "that I 
stand much in fear of death." 

"Oh, no, no," she said, "I see you are no poltroon. It 
is for my own sake — I could not bear to have you slain for 
such a scruple." 

"I am afraid," returned Denis, "that you underrate the 
difficulty, madam. What you may be too generous to re- 
fuse, I may be too proud to accept. In a moment of noble 
feeling toward me, you forget what you perhaps owe to 
others." 

He had the decency to keep his eyes on the floor as he 



HO THE SHORT STORY 

said this, and after he had finished, so as not to spy upon 
her confusion. She stood silent for a moment, then walked 
suddenly away, and falling on her uncle's chair, fairly 
burst out sobbing. Denis was in the acme of embarrass- 
ment. He looked round, as if to seek for inspiration, and, 
seeing a stool, plumped down upon it for something to do. 
There he sat, playing with the guard of his rapier, and 
wishing himself dead a thousand times over, and buried in 
the nastiest kitchen-heap in France. His eyes wandered 
round the apartment, but found nothing to arrest them. 
There were such wide spaces between the furniture, the 
light fell so badly and cheerlessly over all, the dark out- 
side air looked in so coldly through the windows, that he 
thought he had never seen a church so vast, nor a tomb so 
melancholy. The regular sobs of Blanche de Maletroit 
measured out the time like the ticking of a clock. He read 
the device upon the shield over and over again, until his 
eyes became obscured; he stared into shadowy corners 
until he imagined they were swarming with horrible ani- 
mals ; and every now and again he awoke with a start, to 
remember that his last two hours were running, and death 
was on the march. 

Oftener and oftener, as the time went on, did his glance 
settle on the girl herself. Her face was bowed forward and 
covered with her hands, and she was shaken at intervals 
by the convulsive hiccough of grief. Even thus she was 
not an unpleasant object to dwell upon, so plump and yet 
so fine, with a warm brown skin, and the most beautiful 
hair, Denis thought, in the whole world of womankind. 
Her hands were like her uncle's: but thev were more in 
place at the end of her young arms, and looked infinitely 
soft and caressing. He remembered how her blue eves 
had shone upon him, full of anpvr, pitv, and innocence. 
And the more he dwelt on her perfections, the uglier death 



THE SIRE DE MALETKOIT'S DOOR HI 

looked, and the more deeply was he smitten with penitence 
at her continued tears. Now he felt that no man could 
have the courage to leave a world which contained so 
beautiful a creature; and now he would have given forty 
minutes of his last hour to have unsaid his cruel speech. 

Suddenly a hoarse and ragged peal of cockcrow rose to 
their ears from the dark valley below the windows. And 
this shattering noise in the silence of all around was like a 
light in a dark place, and shook them both out of their 
reflections. 

"Alas, can I do nothing to help you?" she said, look- 
ing up. 

"Madam," replied Denis, with a fine irrelevancy, "if I 
have said anything to wound you, believe me, it was for 
your own sake and not for mine." 

She thanked him with a tearful look. 

"I feel your position cruelly," he went on. "The world 
has been bitter hard on you. Your uncle is a disgrace to 
mankind. Believe me, madam, there is no young gentle- 
man in all France but would be glad of my opportunity, 
to die in doing you a momentary service." 

"I know already that you can be very brave and gener- 
ous," she answered. "What I want to know is whether I 
can serve you — now or afterward," she added, with a 
quaver. 

"Most certainly,''" he answered, with a smile. "Let me 
sit beside you as if I were a friend, instead of a foolish 
intruder; try to forget how awkwardly we are placed to 
one another ; make my last moments go pleasantly ; and yon 
will do me the chief service possible." 

"You are very gallant," she added, with a yet deeper 
sadness — "very gallant — and it somehow pains me. But 
draw nearer, if you please; and if you find anything to 
say to me, you will at least make certain of a very friendly 



112 THE SHORT STORY 

listener. Ah ! Monsieur de Beaulieu," she broke forth — 
"ah ! Monsieur de Beaulieu, how can I look you in the 
face?" And she fell to weeping again with a renewed 
effusion. 

"Madam/' said Denis, taking her hand in both of his 
"reflect on the little time I have before me, and the great 
bitterness into which I am cast by the sight of your dis- 
tress. Spare me, in my last moments, the spectacle of 
what I cannot cure even with the sacrifice of my life." 

"I am very selfish," answered Blanche. "I will be 
braver, Monsieur de Beaulieu, for your sake. But think if 
I can do you no kindness in the future — if you have no 
friends to whom I could carry your adieus. Charge me as 
heavily as you can; every burden will lighten, by so little, 
the invaluable gratitude I owe you. Put it in my power 
to do something more for you than weep." 

"My mother is married again, and has a young family 
to care for. My brother Guichard will inherit my fiefs; 1 
and if I am not in error, that will content him amply for 
my death. Life is a little vapor that passeth away, as we 
are told by those in hoty orders. When a man is in a fair 
way and sees all life open in front of him, he seems to him- 
self to make a very important figure in the world. His 
horse whinnies to him; the trumpets blow and the girls 
look out of window as he rides into town before his com- 
pany; he receives many assurances of trust and regard — 
sometimes by express in a letter — sometimes face to face, 
with persons of great consequence falling on his neck. It 
is not wonderful if his head is turned for a time. But once 
he is dead, were he as brave as Hercules or as wise as 
Solomon, he is soon forgotten. It is not ten years since my 
father fell, with many other knights around him, in a very 

(1) fiefs ; estates. 



THE SIRE DE MALETEOIT'S DOOE H3 

fierce encounter, and I do not think that any one of them, 
nor as much as the name of the fight, is now remembered. 
No, no, madam, the nearer you come to it, you see that 
death is a dark and dusty corner, where a man gets into his 
tomb and has the door shut after him till the judgment 
day. I have few friends just now, and once I am dead I 
shall have none." 

"Ah, Monsieur de Beaulieu!" she exclaimed, "you forget 
Blanche de Maletroit." 

"You have a sweet nature, madam, and you are pleased 
to estimate a little service far beyond its worth." 

"It is not that," she answered. "You mistake me if you 
think I am easily touched by my own concerns. I say so 
because you are the noblest man I have ever met ; because 
I recognize in you a spirit that would have made even a 
common person famous in the land." 

"And yet here I die in a mousetrap — with no more noise 
about it than my own squeaking," answered he. 

A look of pain crossed her face and she was silent for a 
little while. Then a light came into her eyes, and with a 
smile she spoke again. 

"I cannot have my champion think meanly of himself. 
Any one who gives his life for another will be met in 
paradise by all the heralds and angels of the Lord God. 

And you have no such cause to hang your head. For 

Pray, do you think me beautiful?" she asked, with a deep 
flush. 

"Indeed, madam, I do," he said. 

"I am glad of that," she answered heartily. "Do you 
think there are many men in France who have been asked 
in marriage by a beautiful maiden — with her own lips — 
and who have refused her to her face? I know you men 
would half despise such a triumph; but believe me, we 



114 THE SHORT STORY 

women know more of what is precious in love. There is 
nothing that should set a person higher in his own esteem; 
and we women would prize nothing more dearly." 

"You are very good/' he said; "but you cannot make 
me forget that I was asked in pity and not for love." 

"I am not so sure of that," she replied, holding down her 
head. "Hear me to an end, Monsieur de Beaulieu. I know 
how you must despise me; I feel you are right to do so; I 
am too poor a creature to occupy one thought of your 
mind, although, alas ! you must die for me this morning. 
But when I asked you to marry me, indeed, and indeed, it 
was because I respected and admired you, and loved you 
with my whole soul, from the very moment that you took 
my part against my uncle. If you had seen yourself, and 
how noble you looked, you would pity rather than despise 
me. And now," she went on, hurriedly checking him with 
her hand, "although I have laid aside all reserve and 
told you so much, remember that I know your sentiments 
toward me already. I would not, believe me, being nobly 
born, weary you with importunities into consent. I too 
have a pride of my own; and I declare before the holy 
mother of God, if you should now go back from your word 
already given, I would no more marry you than I would 
marry my uncle's groom." 

Denis smiled a little bitterly. 

"It is a small love," he said, "that shies at a little 
pride." 

She made no answer, although she probably had her own 
thoughts. 

"Come hither to the window," he said with a sigh. 
"Here is the dawn." 

And indeed the dawn was already beginning. The hol- 
low of the sky was full of essential daylight, colorless and 
clean; and the valley underneath was flooded with a gray 



THE SIRE DE MALETROIT'S DOOR 115 

reflection. A few thin vapors clung in the coves of the 
forest or lay along the winding course of the river. The 
scene disengaged a surprising effect of stillness, which was 
hardly interrupted when the cocks began once more to 
crow among the steadings. Perhaps the same fellow who 
had made so horrid a clangor in the darkness not half an 
hour before, now sent up the merriest .cheer to greet the 
coming day. A little wind went bustling and eddying 
among the tree-tops underneath the windows. And still 
the daylight kept flooding insensibly out of the east, which 
was soon to grow incandescent and cast up that red-hot 
cannon-ball, the rising sun. 

Denis looked out over all this with a bit of a shiver. 
He had taken her hand, and retained it in his almost 
unconsciously. 

"Has the day begun already?" she said; and then illog- 
ically enough : "the night has been so long ! Alas ! what 
shall we say to my uncle when he returns ?" 

"What you will," said Denis, and he pressed her fingers 
in his. 

She was silent. 

"Blanche," he said, with a swift, uncertain, passionate 
utterance, "you have seen whether I fear death. You 
must know well enough that I would as gladly leap out of 
that window into the empty air as to lay a finger on you 
without your free and full consent. But if you care for me 
at all do not let me lose my life in a misapprehension, for I 
love you better than the whole world; and though I will 
die for you blithely, it would be like all the joys of Para- 
dise to live on and spend my life in your service." 

As he stopped speaking, a bell began to ring loudly in 
the interior of the house ; and a clatter of armor in the cor- 
ridor showed that the retainers were returning to their 
post, and the two hours were at an end. 



116 THE SHOET STORY 

"After all that you have heard?" she whispered, leaning 
toward him with her lips and eyes. 

"I have heard nothing/' he replied. 

"The captain's name was Florimond de Champdivers," 
she said in his ear. 

"I did not hear it/' he answered, taking her supple body 
in his arms, and. covered her wet face with kisses. 

A melodious chirping was audible behind, followed by a . 
beautiful chuckle, and the voice of Messire de Maletroit 
wished his new nephew a good-morning. 

editor's note 

The story of adventure has a charm for us all, from 
the boy who delights in Wild West stories to his elders 
who read the narratives of the great explorers. The 
writer of fiction takes advantage of this interest in adven- 
ture, and skillfully heightens it by introducing romantic 
circumstances. Thus in the present story the period is 
the Middle Ages^the characters, a gallant young soldier, 
a fair maiden in distress, a cruel relative; the setting of 
the story, a castle with a trap door and men-at-arms be- 
hind the arras; the plot, a girl compelled to see a gallant 
youth hanged, or save him by marrying him. All these 
circumstances, so far removed from our daily humdrum 
lives, we call romantic, and such a story is therefore one 
of romantic adventure. 

In this type of story, our interest is in the plot rather 
than in the characters. If it is well written, we read it 
almost breathlessly, eager only to see "how it comes out." 
That means that the writer's problem is how to create 
and sustain interest. Let us # see how Stevenson has man- 
aged it here. 

The opening sentences of the story introduce the hero, ' 
start the story, and give us a hint of trouble to come, — all 
in one short paragraph. Then follows a paragraph giving 
the setting: the time and place. A less skillful writer 
might have begun with this paragraph: Stevenson begins 



THE SIRE DE MALETROIT 'S DOOR 117 

with' something that cannot fail to catch our interest. The 
third paragraph resumes the story, and leaves us appre- 
hensive for Denis, lost in a strange city. Then quickly 
follow the pursuit, the escape, the trap, and the strange 
demand of the Sire de Maletroit. Interest is secured, then, 
by beginning the story quickly: it is sustained by involving 
the hero in a series of adventures, each more exciting than 
the preceding. 

Among the minor elements of the story we may note the 
artistic use of description. The Sire de Maletroit is 
described at length, and it is noteworthy that most of the 
details are such as characterize as well as describe. This 
characterization was necessary to explain his strange treat- 
ment of his niece. Blanche is described more briefly, yet 
fully enough to make us feel that Denis was a lucky fellow. 
Of Denis himself there is the barest touch of description, 
yet we do not feel its lack. Here, as in most stories of 
adventure, description, being less interesting than action, 
is minimized. 

Finally, Stevenson, born story-teller that he was, knows 
exactly when to stop. 

REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF ROMANTIC ADVENTURE 

The Man Who Would Be King; in The Phantom 

Rickshaw Rudyard Kipling 

The Pavilion on the Links; in New Arabian 

Nights R. L. Stevenson 

Legend of the Three Beautiful Princesses; in The 

Alhambra Washington Irving 

Wolfert Webber; in Tales of a 

Traveller Washington Irving 

The Student of Salamanco ; in Bracebridge 

Hall Washington Irving 

A Venetian Night's Entertainment; in The Descent of 

Man Edith Wharton 



118 THE SHOET STORY 

The Sin of the Bishop of Modenstein; The Happiness 
of Stephen the Smith ; in The Heart of the Princess 
Osra Anthony Hope 

Count Antonio and the Lady of Rilano; Count 
Antonio and the Traitor Prince; in Chronicles 
of the Count Antonio Anthony Hope 

How the Brigadier Came to the Castle of Gloom; in 

Exploits of Brigadier Gerard A. Conan Doyle 

How the Brigadier Captured Saragossa; in The 

Adventures of Gerard A. Conan Doyle 



STORY OF TERROR 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 1 

By EDGAR ALLAN POE 

Impia tortorum longas hie turba furores 
Sanguinis innocui, non satiata, aluit. 
Sospite nunc patria, fracto nunc funeris antro, 
Mors ubi dira fuit vita salusque patent. 2 

Quatrain composed for the gates of a market to be 

erected upon the site of the Jacobin Club House 

at Paris. 

I was sick — sick unto death with that long agony; and 
when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted 
to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sen- 
tence — the dread sentence of death — was the last of dis- 
tinct accentuation which reached my ears. After that, the 
sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one 
dreamy indeterminate hum. It conveyed to my soul the 
idea of revolution, perhaps from its association in fancy 
with the burr of a mill-wheel. This only for a brief 
period; for presently I heard no more. Yet, for a while, 
I saw; but with how terrible an exaggeration! I saw 
the lips of the black-robed judges. They appeared to me 
white, whiter than the sheet upon which I trace these 
words, and thin even to grotesqueness ; thin with the in- 
tensity of their expression of firmness, — of immovable 

(1) From Prose Tales. This story was first published in 1843. 

(2) Latin. "Here the impious clamor of the torturers, insatiate, 
fed long its rage for innocent blood. Now happy is the land, destroyed 
the pit of horror ; and where grim deat'i stalked, life and health are 
revealed." Jacobin Club : a society of French revolutionists who with 
Robespierre as leader were in power during the Reign of Terror. 

119 



120 THE SHORT STORY 

resolution, of stern contempt of human torture. I saw- 
that the decrees of what to me was Fate were still issuing 
from those lips. I saw them writhe with a deadly locution. 
I saw them fashion the syllables of my name; and I shud- 
dered because no sound succeeded. I saw, too, for a few 
moments of delirious horror, the soft and nearly imper- 
ceptible waving of the sable draperies which enwrapped 
the walls of the apartment. And then my vision fell upon 
the seven tall candles upon the table. At first they wore 
the aspect of charity, and seemed white slender angels 
who would save me; but then, all at once, there came a 
most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I felt every fibre 
in my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a 
galvanic battery, while the angel forms became meaning- 
less spectres, with heads of flame, and I saw that from 
them there would be no help. And then there stole into 
my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what 
sweet rest there must be in the grave. The thought came 
gently and stealthily, and it seemed long before it attained 
full appreciation; but just as my spirit came at length 
properly to feel and entertain it, the figures of the judges 
vanished, as if magically, from before me; the tall candles 
sank into nothingness; their flames went out utterly; the 
blackness of darkness supervened; all sensations appeared 
swallowed up in a mad rushing descent as of the soul into 
Hades. Then silence, and stillness, and night were the 
universe. 

I had swooned; but still will not say that all of con- 
sciousness was lost. What of it there remained I will 
not attempt to define, or even to describe; yet all was 
not lost. In the deepest slumber — no! In delirium — no! 
In a swoon — no! In death — no! even in the grave all is 
not lost. Else there is no. immortality for man. Arousing 
from the most profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 121 

web of some dream. Yet in a second afterward (so frail 
may that web have been) we remember not that we have 
dreamed. In the return to life from the swoon there are 
two stages: first, that of the sense of mental or spiritual, 
secondly, that of the sense of physical, existence. It seems 
probable that if, upon reaching the second stage, we could 
recall the impressions of the first, we should find these 
impressions eloquent in memories of the gulf beyond. And 
that gulf is — what? How at least shall we distinguish its 
shadows from those of the tomb? But if the impressions of 
what I have termed the first stage are not at will recalled, 
yet, after a long interval, do they not come unbidden, 
while we marvel whence they come? He who has never 
swooned is not he who finds strange palaces and wildly 
familiar faces in coals that glow; is not he who beholds 
floating in mid-air the sad visions that the many may not 
view; is not he who ponders over the perfume of some 
novel flower; is not he whose brain grows bewildered 
with the meaning of some musical cadence which has never 
before arrested his attention. 

Amid frequent and thoughtful endeavors to remember, 
amid earnest struggles to regather some token of the state 
of seeming nothingness into which my soul had lapsed, 
there have been moments when I have dreamed of suc- 
cess; there have been brief, very brief periods when I 
have conjured up remembrances which the lucid reason 
of a later epoch assures me could have had reference only 
to that condition of seeming unconsciousness. These 
shadows of memory tell, instinctively, of tall figures that 
lifted and bore me in silence down — down — still down — 
till a hideous dizziness oppressed me at the mere idea of 
the interminableness of the descent. They tell also of a 
vague horror at my heart, on account of that heart's 
unnatural stillness. Then comes a sense of sudden mo- 



122 THE SHOKT STORY 

tionlessness throughout all things; as if those who bore me 
(a ghastly train!) had outrun in their descent the limits 
of the limitless, and paused from the wearisomeness of 
their toil. After this I call to mind flatness and dampness ; 
and then all is madness — the madness of a memory which 
busies itself among forbidden things. 

Very suddenly there came back to my soul motion and 
sound — the tumultuous motion of the heart, and, in my 
ears, the sound of its beating. Then a pause in which all 
is blank. Then again sound, and motion, and touch — a 
tingling sensation pervading my frame. Then the mere 
consciousness of existence, without thought — a condition 
which lasted long. Then, very suddenly, thought, and 
shuddering terror, and earnest endeavor to comprehend my 
true state. Then a strong desire to lapse into insensibility. 
Then a rushing revival of soul and a successful effort to 
move. And now a full memory of the trial, of the judges, 
of the sable draperies, of the sentence, of the sickness, 
of the swoon. Then entire forgetfulness of all that fol- 
lowed; of all that a later day and much earnestness of 
endeavor have enabled me vaguely to recall. 

So far, I had not opened my eyes. I felt that I lay 
upon my back, unbound. I reached out my hand, and it 
fell heavily upon something damp and hard. There I 
suffered it to remain for many minutes, while I strove to 
imagine where and what I could be. I longed yet dared 
not to employ my vision. I dreaded the first glance at 
objects around me. It was not that I feared to look upon 
things horrible, but that I grew aghast lest there should 
be nothing to see. At length, with a wild desperation at 
heart, I quickly unclosed my eyes. My worst thoughts, 
then, were confirmed. The blackness of eternal night 
encompassed me. I struggled for breath. The intensity 
of the darkness seemed to oppress and stifle me. The 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 123 

atmosphere was intolerably close. I still lay quietly, and 
made effort to exercise my reason. I brought to mind the 
inquisitorial proceedings, and attempted from that point to 
deduce my real condition. The sentence had passed; and 
it appeared to me that a very long interval of time had 
since elapsed. Yet not for a moment did I suppose my- 
self actually dead. Such a supposition, notwithstanding 
what we read in fiction, is altogether inconsistent with 
real existence; — but where and in what state was I? The 
condemned to death, I knew, perished usually at the autos- 
da-fe, 1 and one of these had been held on the very night 
of the day of my trial. Had I been remanded to my 
dungeon to await the next sacrifice, which would not take 
place for many months? This I at once saw could not be. 
Victims had been in immediate demand. Moreover, my 
dungeon, as well as all the condemned cells at Toledo, had 
stone floors, and light was not altogether excluded. 

A fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in torrents 
upon my heart, and for a brief period I once more relapsed 
into insensibility. Upon recovering, I at once started to 
my feet, trembling convulsively in every fibre. I thrust 
my arms wildly above and around me in all directions. I 
felt nothing; yet dreaded to move a step, lest I should be 
impeded by the walls of a tomb. Perspiration burst from 
every pore, and stood in cold, big beads upon my forehead. 
The agony of suspense grew at length intolerable, and I 
cautiously moved forward, with my arms extended, and 
my eyes straining from their sockets, in the hope of catch- 
ing some faint ray of light. I proceeded for many paces; 
but still all was blackness and vacancy. I breathed more 
freely. It seemed evident that mine was not, at least, the 
most hideous of fates. 

(1) autos-da-fe: the announcement of the decision of the courts 
established by the Spanish Inquisition for the trial of heretics. 



124 THE SHORT STORY 

And, now, as I still continued to step cautiously onward, 
there came thronging upon my recollection a thousand 
vague rumors of the horrors of Toledo. Of the dungeons 
there had been strange things narrated — fables I had 
always deemed them — but yet strange, and too ghastly to 
repeat, save in a whisper. Was I left to perish of starva- 
tion in this subterranean world of darkness ; or what fate, 
perhaps even more fearful, awaited me? That the result 
would be death, and a death of more than customary bit- 
terness, I knew too well the character of my judges to 
doubt. The mode and the hour were all that occupied 
or distracted me. 

My outstretched hands at length encountered some solid 
obstruction. It was a wall, seemingly of stone masonry — 
very smooth, slimy, and cold. I followed it up; stepping 
with all the careful distrust with which certain antique nar- 
ratives had inspired me. This process, however, afforded 
me no means of ascertaining the dimensions of my dun- 
geon; as I might make its circuit, and return to the point 
whence I set out, without being aware of the fact, so per- 
fectly uniform seemed the wall. I- therefore sought the 
knife which had been in my pocket when led into the 
inquisitorial chamber; but it was gone; my clothes had been 
exchanged for a wrapper of coarse serge. I had thought 
of forcing the blade in some minute crevice of the masonry, 
so as to identify my point of departure. The difficulty, 
nevertheless, was but trivial; although, in the disorder of 
my fancy, it seemed at first insuperable. I tore a part of 
the hem from the robe and placed the fragment at full 
length, and at right angles to the wall. In groping my way 
around the prison I could not fail to encounter this rag 
upon completing the circuit. So, at least, I thought; but 
I had not counted upon the extent of the dungeon, or 
upon my own weakness. The ground was moist and slip- 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 125 

pery. I staggered onward for some time, when I stumbled 
and fell. My excessive fatigue induced me to remain pros- 
trate; and sleep soon overtook me as I lay. 

Upon awaking, and stretching forth an arm, I found 
beside me a loaf and a pitcher with water. I was too much 
exhausted to reflect upon this circumstance, but ate and 
drank with avidity. Shortly afterward, I resumed my tour 
around the prison, and with much toil came at last upon the 
fragment of the serge. Up to the period when I fell, 
I had counted fifty-two paces, and, upon resuming my 
walk, I had counted forty-eight more — when I arrived at 
the rag. There were in all, then, a hundred paces; and, 
admitting two paces to the yard, I presumed the dungeon 
to be fifty yards in circuit. I had met, however, with 
many angles in the wall, and thus I could form no guess 
at the shape of the vault; for vault I could not help 
supposing it to be. 

I had little object — certainly no hope — in these re- 
searches; but a vague curiosity prompted me to continue 
them. Quitting the wall, I resolved to cross the area of 
the enclosure. At first, I proceeded with extreme caution, 
for the floor, although seemingly of solid material, was 
treacherous with slime. At length, however, I took courage, 
and did not hesitate to step firmly — endeavoring to cross 
in as direct a line as possible. I had advanced some ten 
or twelve paces in this manner, when the remnant of the 
torn hem of my robe became entangled between my legs. 
I stepped on it and fell violently on my face. 

In the confusion attending my fall, I did not imme- 
diately apprehend a somewhat startling circumstance, 
which yet, in a few seconds afterward, and while I still 
lay prostrate, arrested my attention. It was this : my chin 
rested upon the floor of the prison, but my lips and the 
upper portion of my head, although seemingly at a less 



126 THE SHORT STORY 

elevation than the chin, touched nothing. At the same 
time, my forehead seemed bathed in a clammy vapor, and 
the peculiar smell of decayed fungus arose to my nostrils. 
I put forward my arm, and shuddered to find that I had 
fallen at the very brink of a circular pit, whose extent, 
of course, I had no means of ascertaining at the moment. 
Groping about the masonry just below the margin, I suc- 
ceeded in dislodging a small fragment, and let it fall into 
the abyss. For many seconds I hearkened to its reverber- 
ations as it dashed against the sides^of the chasm in its 
descent; at length there was a sullen plunge into water, 
succeeded by loud echoes. At the same moment there 
came a sound resembling the quick opening and as rapid 
closing of a door overhead, while a faint gleam of light 
flashed suddenly through the gloom, and as suddenly faded 
away. 

I saw clearly the doom which had been prepared for 
me, and congratulated myself upon the timely accident 
by which I had escaped. Another step before my fall, 
and the world had seen me no more. And the death just 
avoided was of that very character which I had regarded 
as fabulous and frivolous in the tales respecting the 
Inquisition. To the victims of its tyranny there was the 
choice of death with its direst physical agonies, or death 
with its most hideous moral horrors. I had been reserved 
for the latter. By long suffering my nerves had been 
unstrung, until I trembled at the sound of my own voice, 
and had become in every respect a fitting subject for the 
species of torture which awaited me. 

Shaking in every limb, I groped my way back to the 
wall — resolving there to perish rather than risk the terrors 
of the wells, of which my imagination now pictured many 
in various positions about the dungeon. In other conditions 
of mind, I might have had courage to end my misery at 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 127 

once, by a plunge into one of these abysses ; but now 
I was the veriest of cowards. Neither could I forget 
what I had read of these pits — that the sudden extinction 
of life formed no part of their most horrible plan. 

Agitation of spirit kept me awake for many long hours ; 
but at length I again slumbered. Upon arousing, I found 
by my side, as before, a loaf and a pitcher of water. A 
burning thirst consumed me, and I emptied the vessel 
at a draughj;. It must have been drugged — for scarcely 
had I drunk, before I became irresistibly drowsy. A 
deep sleep fell upon me — a sleep like that of death. How 
long it lasted, of course I know not; but, when once again 
I unclosed my eyes, the objects around me were visible. 
By a wild, sulphurous lustre, the origin of which I could 
not at first determine, I was enabled to see the extent and 
aspect of the prison. 

In its size I had been greatly mistaken. The whole 
circuit of its walls did not exceed twenty-five yards. For 
some minutes this fact occasioned me a world of vain 
trouble ; vain indeed — for what could be of less importance, 
under the terrible circumstances which environed me, than 
the mere dimensions of my dungeon? But my soul took 
a wild interest in trifles, and I busied myself in endeavors 
to account for the error I had committed in my measure- 
ment. The truth at length flashed upon me. In my first 
attempt at exploration I had counted fifty-two paces, up 
to the period when I fell: I must then have been within 
a pace or two of the fragment of serge; in fact, I had 
nearly performed the circuit of the vault. I then slept — 
and, upon awaking, I must have returned upon my steps, 
thus supposing the circuit nearly double what it actually 
was. My confusion of mind prevented me from observing 
that I began my tour with the wall to the left, and ended 
it with the wall to the right. 



128 THE SHORT STOEY 

I had been deceived, too, in respect to the shape of the 
enclosure. In feeling my way, I had found many angles, 
and thus deduced an idea of great irregularity; so potent 
is the effect of total darkness upon one arousing from 
lethargy or sleep ! The angles were simply those of a few- 
slight depressions, or niches, at odd intervals. The general 
shape of the prison was square. What I had taken for 
masonry, seemed now to be iron, or some other metal, in 
huge plates, whose sutures or joints occasione4 the depres- 
sion. The entire surface of this metallic enclosure was 
rudely daubed in all the hideous and repulsive devices to 
which the charnel superstition of the monks has given rise. 
The figures of fiends in aspects of menace, with skeleton 
forms, and other more really fearful images, overspread 
and disfigured the walls. I observed that the outlines of 
these monstrosities were sufficiently distinct, but that the 
colors seemed faded and blurred, as if from the effects 
of a damp atmosphere. I now noticed the floor, too, which 
was of stone. In the centre yawned the circular pit from 
whose jaws I had escaped; but it was the only one in the 
dungeon. 

All this I saw distinctly and by much effort, for my 
personal condition had been greatly changed during slum- 
ber. I now lay upon my back, and at full length, on a 
species of low framework of wood. To this I was securely 
bound by a long strap" resembling a surcingle. It passed 
in many convolutions about my limbs and body, leaving 
at liberty only my head, and my left arm to such extent 
that I could, by dint of much exertion, supply myself with 
food from an earthen dish which lay by my side on the 
floor. I saw, to my horror, that the pitcher had been 
removed. I say, to my horror — for I was consumed with 
intolerable thirst. This thirst it appeared to be the design 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 129 

of my persecutors to stimulate, for the food in the dish 
was meat pungently seasoned. 

Looking upward, I surveyed the ceiling of my prison. 
It was some thirty or forty feet overhead, and constructed 
much as the side walls. In one of its panels a very 
singular figure riveted my whole attention. It was the 
painted figure of Time as he is commonly represented, 
save that, in lieu of a scythe, he held what, at a casual 
glance, I supposed to be the pictured image of a huge 
pendulum, such as we see on antique clocks. There was 
something, however, in the appearance of this machine 
which caused me to regard it more attentively. While 
I gazed directly upward at it (for its position w r as imme- 
diately over my own), I fancied that I saw it in motion. 
In an instant afterward the fancy was confirmed. Its 
sweep was brief, and of course slow. I watched it for 
some minutes, somewhat in fear, but more in wonder. 
Wearied at length with observing its dull movement, I 
turned my eyes upon the other objects in the cell. 

A slight noise attracted my notice, and, looking to the 
floor, I saw several enormous rats traversing it. They 
had issued from the well, which lay just within view to 
my right. Even then, while I gazed, they came up in 
troops, hurriedly, with ravenous eyes, allured by the scent 
of the meat. From this it required much effort and 
attention to scare them away. 

It might have been half an hour, perhaps even an hour 
(for I could take but imperfect note of time) before I 
again cast my eyes upward. What I then saw, confounded 
and amazed me. The sweep of the pendulum had increased 
.in extent by nearly a yard. As a natural consequence, its 
velocity was also much greater. But what mainly dis- 
turbed me, was the idea that it had perceptibly descended. 



130 THE SHORT STORY 

I now observed — with what horror it is needless to say — 
that its nether extremity was formed of a crescent of 
glittering steel, about a foot in length from horn to horn; 
the horns upward, and the under edge evidently as keen 
as that of a razor. Like a razor also, it seemed massy 
and heavy, tapering from the edge into a solid and broad 
structure above. It was appended to a weighty rod of 
brass, and the whole hissed as it swung through the air. 

I could no longer doubt the doom prepared for me by 
monkish ingenuity in torture. My cognizance of the pit 
had become known to the inquisitorial agents — the pit, 
whose horrors had been destined for so bold a recusant as 
myself — the pit, typical of hell, and regarded by rumor 
as the Ultima Thule 1 of all their punishments. The plunge 
into this pit I had avoided by the merest of accidents, and 
I knew that surprise, or entrapment into torment, formed 
an important portion of all the grotesquerie of these 
dungeon deaths. Having failed to fall, it was no part of 
the demon plan to hurl me into the abyss ; and thus (there 
being no alternative), a different and a milder destruction 
awaited me. Milder! I half smiled in my agony as I 
thought of such application of such a term. 

What boots it to tell of the long, long hours of horror 
more than mortal, during which I counted the rushing 
oscillations of the steel! Inch by inch — line by line — 
with a descent only appreciable at intervals that seemed 
ages — down and still down it came ! Days passed — it might 
have been that many days passed — ere it swept so closely 
over me as to fan me with its acrid breath. The odor of 
the sharp steel forced itself into my nostrils. I prayed — 
I wearied heaven with my prayer for its more speedy 
descent. I grew frantically mad, and struggled to force 
myself upward against the sweep of the fearful cimeter. 

(1) Ultima Thule: the very extreme. 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 131 

And then I fell suddenly calm, and lay smiling at the 
glittering death, as a child at some rare bawble. 

There was another interval of utter insensibility; it was 
brief; for, upon again lapsing into life, there had been 
no perceptible descent in the pendulum. But it might have 
been long; for I knew there were demons who took note 
of my swoon, and who could have arrested the vibration 
at pleasure. Upon my recovery, too, I felt very — oh, 
inexpressibly — sick and weak, as if through long inanition. 
Even am^.d the agonies of that period the human nature 
craved food. With painful effort, I outstretched my left 
arm as far as my bonds permitted, and took possession 
of the small remnant which had been spared me by the 
rats. As I put a portion of it within my lips, there rushed 
to my mind a half- formed thought of joy — of hope. Yet 
what business had / with hope? It was, as I say, a half- 
formed thought: man has many such, which are never 
completed. I felt that it was of joy — of hope; but I felt 
also that it had perished in its formation. In vain I 
struggled to perfect — to regain it. Long suffering had 
nearly annihilated all my ordinary powers of mind. I was 
an imbecile — an idiot. 

The vibration of the pendulum was at right angles to 
my length. I saw that the crescent was designed to cross 
the region of the heart. It would fray the serge of my 
robe — it would return and repeat its operations — again — 
and again. Notwithstanding its terrifically wide sweep 
(some thirty feet or more), and the hissing vigor of its 
descent, sufficient to sunder these very walls of iron, still 
the fraying of my robe would be all that, for several 
minutes, it would accomplish. And at this thought I 
paused. I dared not go farther than this reflection. 
I dwejj; upon it with a pertinacity of attention — as if in 
so dwelling, I could arrest here the descent of the "steel. 



132 THE SHOET STOKY 

I forced myself to ponder upon the sound of the crescent 
as it should pass across the garment — upon the peculiar 
thrilling sensation which the friction of cloth produces on 
the nerves. I pondered upon all this frivolity until my 
teeth were on edge. 

Down — steadily down it crept. I took a frenzied 
pleasure in contrasting its downward with its lateral 
velocity. To the right — to the left — far and wide — with 
the shriek of a damned spirit ! to my heart, with the 
stealthy pace of the tiger ! I alternately laughed and 
howled, as the one cr the other idea grew predominant. 

Down — certainly, relentlessly down ! It vibrated within 
three inches of my bosom ! I struggled violently — furiously 
— to free my left arm. This was free only from the elbow 
to the hand. I could reach the latter from the platter 
beside me to my mouth, with great effort, but no farther. 
Could I have broken the fastenings above the elbow, I 
would have seized and attempted to arrest the pendulum. 
I might as well have attempted to arrest an avalanche ! 

Down — still unceasingly — still inevitably down ! I 
gasped and struggled at each vibration. I shrank con- 
vulsive^ at its every sweep. My eyes followed its out- 
Ward or upward whirls with the eagerness of the most 
unmeaning despair; they closed themselves spasmodically 
at the descent, although death would have been a relief, 
oh, how unspeakable ! Still I quivered in every nerve to 
think how slight a sinking of the machinery would pre- 
cipitate that keen, glistening axe upon my bosom. It was 
hope that prompted the nerve to quiver — the frame to 
shrink. It was hope — the hope that triumphs on the rack 
— that whispers to the death-condemned even in the 
dungeons of the Inquisition. 

I saw that some ten or twelve vibrations woulcfr bring 
the steel in actual contact with my robe; and with this 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 133 

observation there suddenly came over my spirit all the 
keen, collected calmness of despair. For the first time 
during many hours — or perhaps days — I thought. It now 
occurred to me, that the bandage, or surcingle, which envel- 
oped me, was unique. I was tied by no separate cord. 
The first stroke of the razor-like crescent athwart any 
portion of the band would so detach it that it might be 
unwound from my person by means of my left hand. But 
how fearful, in that case, the proximity of the steel ! The 
result of the slightest struggle, how deadly ! Was it likely, 
moreover, that the minions of the torturer had not foreseen 
and provided for this possibility? Was it probable that 
the bandage crossed my bosom in the track of the pendu- 
lum? Dreading to find my faint, and, as it seemed, my 
last hope frustrated, I so far elevated my head as to 
obtain a distinct view of my breast. The surcingle envel- 
oped my limbs and body close in all directions — save in 
the path of the destroying crescent. 

Scarcely had I dropped my head back into its original 
position, when there flashed upon my mind what I cannot 
better describe than as the unformed half of that idea 
of deliverance to which I have previously alluded, and 
of which a moiety only floated indeterminately through 
my brain when I raised food to my burning lips. The 
whole thought was now present — feeble, scarcely sane, 
scarcely definite — but still entire. I proceeded at once, 
with the nervous energy of despair, to attempt its execution. 

For many hours the immediate vicinity of the low frame- 
work upon which I lay had been literally swarming with 
rats. They were wild, bold, ravenous — their red eyes 
glaring upon me as if they waited but for motionlessness 
on my part to make me their prey. "To what food," 
I thought, "have they been accustomed in the well?" 

They had devoured, in spite of all my efforts to prevent 



134 THE SHORT STORY 

them, all but a small remnant of the contents of the dish. 
I had fallen into an habitual see-saw, or wave of the hand 
about the platter; and, at length, the unconscious uni- 
formity of the movement deprived it of effect. In their 
voracity the vermin frequently fastened their sharp fangs 
in my fingers. With the particles of the oily and spicy 
viand which now remained I thoroughly rubbed the 
bandage wherever I could reach it; then, raising my hand 
from the floor, I lay breathlessly still. 

At first, the ravenous animals were startled and terrified 
at the change — the cessation of movement. They shrank 
alarmedly back; many sought the well. But this was only 
for a moment. I had net counted in vain upon their 
voracity. Observing that I remained without motion, one 
or two of the boldest leaped upon the framework, and 
smelt at the surcingle. This seemed the signal for a 
general rush. Forth from the well they hurried in fresh 
troops. They clung to the wood — they overran it, and 
leaped in hundreds upon my person. The measured move- 
ment of the pendulum disturbed them not at all. Avoiding 
its strokes, they busied themselves with the anointed 
bandage. They pressed — they swarmed upon me in ever- 
accumulating heaps. They writhed upon my throat; their 
cold lips sought my own; I was half stifled by their 
thronging pressure ; disgust, for which the world has no 
name, swelled my bosom, and chilled, with a heavy clammi- 
ness, my heart. Yet one minute, and I felt that the struggle 
would be over. Plainly I perceived the loosening of the 
bandage. I knew that in more than one place it must be 
alreadv severed. With a more than human resolution 
I lay still. 

Nor had I erred in mv calculations — nor had I endured 
in vain. I at length felt that I was free. The surcingle 
hung in ribbons from my body. But the stroke of the 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 135 

pendulum already pressed upon my bosom. It had divided 
the serge of the robe. It had cut through the linen 
beneath. Twice again it swung, and a sharp sense of pain 
shot through every nerve. But the moment of escape had 
arrived. At a wave of my hand my deliverers hurried 
tumultuously away. With a steady movement — cautious, 
sidelong, shrinking, and slow — I slid from the embrace of 
the bandage and beyond the reach of the cimeter. For 
the moment, at least, / was free. 

Free ! — and in the grasp of the Inquisition ! I had 
scarcely stejiped from my wooden bed of horror upon 
the stone floor of the prison, when the motion of the 
hellish machine ceased, and I beheld it drawn up, by some 
invisible force, through the ceiling. This was a lesson 
which I took desperately to heart. My every motion was 
undoubtedly watched. Free ! — I had but escaped death in 
one form of agony to be delivered unto worse than death 
in some other. With that thought I rolled my eyes 
nervously around on the barriers of iron that hemmed me 
in. Something unusual — some change which, at first, I 
could not appreciate distinctly — it was obvious, had taken 
place in the apartment. For many minutes of a dreamy 
and trembling abstraction I busied myself in vain, uncon- 
nected conjecture. During this period, I became aware, 
for the first time, of the origin of the sulphurous light 
which illumined the cell. It proceeded from a fissure, 
about half an inch in width, extending entirely around 
the prison at the base of the walls, which thus appeared 
and were completely separated from the floor. I en- 
deavored, but of course in vain, to look through the 
aperture. 

As I arose from the attempt, the mystery of the alter- 
ation in the chamber broke at once upon my understanding. 
I have observed that, although the outlines of the figures 



136 THE SHORT STORY. 

upon the walls were sufficiently distinct, yet the colors 
seemed blurred and indefinite. These colors had now 
assumed, and were momentarily assuming, a startling and 
most intense brilliancy, that gave to the spectral and 
fiendish portraitures an aspect that might have thrilled 
even firmer nerves than my own. Demon eyes, of a wild 
and ghastly vivacity, glared upon me in a thousand direc- 
tions, where none had been visible before, and gleamed 
with the lurid lustre of a fire that I could not force' my 
imagination to regard as unreal. 

Unreal! — Even while I breathed there came to my 
nostrils the breath of the vapor of heated iron ! A suffo- 
cating odor pervaded the prison. A deeper glow settled 
each moment in the eyes that glared at my agonies ! A 
richer tint of crimson diffused itself over the pictured 
horrors of blood. I panted! I gasped for breath! There 
could be no doubt of the design of my tormentors — oh, 
most unrelenting! oh, most demoniac of men! I shrank 
from the glowing metal to the centre of the cell. Amid 
the thought of the fiery destruction that impended, the idea 
of the coolness of the well came over my soul like balm. 
I rushed to its deadly brink. I threw my straining vision 
below. The glare from the enkindled roof illumined its 
inmost recesses. Yet, for a wild moment, did my spirit 
refuse to comprehend the meaning of what I saw. At 
length it forced — it wrestled its way into my soul — it 
burned itself in upon my shuddering reason. Oh, for a 
voice to speak ! — oh, horror ! — oh, any horror but this ! 
With a shriek, I rushed from the margin, and buried my 
face in my hands — weeping bitterly. 

The heat rapidlv increased, and once acrain I looked 
up, shuddering as with a fit of the ague. There had been 
a second change in the cell — and now the change was 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 137 

obviously in the form. As before^it was in vain that I at 
first endeavored to appreciate or understand what was 
taking place. But not long was I left in doubt. The 
inquisitorial vengeance had been hurried by my twofold 
escape, and there was to be no more dallying with the 
King of Terrors. The room had been square. I saw that 
two of its iron angles were now acute — two, consequently, 
obtuse. The fearful difference quickly increased with a 
low rumbling or moaning sound. In an instant the apart- 
ment had shifted its form into that of a lozenge. But the 
alteration stopped not here — I neither hoped nor desired 
it to stop. I could have clasped the red walls to my bosom 
as a garment of eternal peace. "Death/' I said, "any 
death but that of the pit!" Fool! might I not have known 
that into the pit it was the object of the burning iron to 
urge me? Could I resist its glow? or if even that, could 
I withstand its pressure? And now, flatter and flatter 
grew the lozenge, with a rapidity that left me no time 
for contemplation. Its centre, and, of course, its greatest 
width, came just over the yawning gulf. I shrank back — 
but the closing walls pressed me resistlessly onward. At 
length for my seared and writhing body there was no 
longer an inch of foothold on the firm floor of the prison. 
I struggled no more, but the agony of my soul found vent 
in one loud, long, and final scream of despair. I felt that 
I tottered upon the brink — I averted my eyes — 

There was a discordant hum of human voices ! There 
was a loud blast as of many trumpets ! There was a harsh 
grating as of a thousand thunders ! The fiery walls rushed 
back! An outstretched arm caught my own as I fell, 
fainting, into the abyss. It was that of General Lasalle. 
The French army had entered Toledo. The Inquisition 
was in the hands of its enemies. 



138 THE SHOKT STOEY 



EDITOR S NOTE 



"The Pit and the Pendulum" is an excellent example 
of the short story that aims at a single effect. In this case 
the effect is to send a thrill through our nerves. Feeling, 
not action, is the main interest. The characters are unim- 
portant, the principal character is not even named, the 
others are mere shadows. But feeling is emphasized from 
the opening sentence: "I was sick — sick unto death with 
that long agony," to the close, where the rescued man 
falls fainting. Terror, fear so overmastering that it almost 
deprives one of the power to speak or move, is the emo- 
tion upon which this story is founded. 

This feeling is awakened in us through our sympathy 
with the prisoner in his various experiences, which grow 
more terrifying as the stor^r advances. We see him first 
trembling before his pitiless judges, next we share his 
dread of being buried alive, then we feel with him the 
terror inspired by the mysterious pit, then with him shrink 
in agony from the descending pendulum, then the iron 
walls begin to close upon him, he rushes to the well and 
sees — something so terrifying that he chooses to be crushed 
between walls of red-hot iron rather than face this. Thus 
the feeling rises in successive waves, each higher than 
the preceding, until we are fairly swept away by its force. 
The story is one that once read is never forgotten. 

Singleness of effect, then, is here secured by taking an 
emotion as the theme, and playing variations upon it. It 
is intensified by the observance of what are called the 
Greek unities. These applied to the drama, and were 
three in number: the law of time, of place, and of action. 
The law of time demanded that the period represented 
should not exceed a day of twenty-four hours; the law of 
place, that this should not change, at least not from one 
city to another; the law of action, that there should be 
one main story, all the incidents being related to this. It 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 139 

will be seen that Poe's story conforms to all three laws. 
By so doing it gains a certain concentration, as is readily 
apparent if it is compared for example with the other 
story of Poe's in this volume, "The Gold Bug." 

REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF TERROR 

The Fall of the House of Usher; The Black Cat; A 
Descent into the Maelstrom; The Cask of Amontil- 
lado; The Tell-Tale Heart; in Prose 

Tales Edgar Allan Poe 

The Merry Men; in The Merry Men R. L. Stevenson 

The Story of the Young Man with the Cream Tarts; 

in New Arabian Nights R. L. Stevenson 

The Strange Ride of Morrowbie Jukes; in The 

Phantom Rickshaw Rudyard Kipling 

The Recrudescence of Imray; in Mine Own 

People Rudyard Kipling 

The Mark of the Beast; Bubbling Well Road; in 

Life's Handicap Rudyard Kipling 

Ethan Brand; in The Snow Image. .Nathaniel Hawthorne 
What Was It? in Poems and Stories; also in Matthew's 

The Short Story Fitzjames O'Brien 

A Journey; in The Greater Inclination . . . .Edith Wharton 

A Ghost; in The Odd Number Guy de Maupassant 

On the River ; in Modern Ghosts Guy de Maupassant 

The Gyroscope ; in Raw Edges Percival Landon 

The Spectre in the Cart; in Bred in the 

Bone Thomas Nelson Page 

"No Haid Pawn"; in In Ole Virginia. Thomas Nelson Page 



STORY OF THE SUPERNATURAL 

THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS; OR, THE 
HOUSE AND THE BRAIN. 1 

By EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON 

A friend of mine, who is a man of letters and a philoso- 
pher, said to me one day, as if between jest and earnest, 
"Fancy! since we last met I have discovered a haunted 
house in the midst 'of London." 

"Really haunted, — and by what? — ghosts?" 

"Well, I can't answer that question; all I know is this: 
six weeks ago my wife and I were in search of a furnished 
apartment. Passing a quiet street, we saw on the window 
of one of the houses a bill 'Apartments, Furnished.' The 
situation suited us; we entered the house, liked the rooms, 
engaged them by the week, — and left them the third day. 
No power on earth could have reconciled my wife to stay 
longer; and I don't wonder at it." 

"What did you see?" 

"Excuse me; I have no desire to be ridiculed as a 
superstitious dreamer, — nor, on the other hand, could I ask 
you to accept on my affirmation what you would hold 
to be incredible without the evidence of your own senses. 
Let me only say this, it was not so much what we saw or 
heard (in which you might fairly suppose that we were 
the dupes of our own excited fancy, or the victims of 

(1) From A Strange Story. First published in Blackwood's Maga- 
zine in 1859. 

140 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 141 

imposture in others) that drove us away, as it was an 
undefinable terror which seized both of us whenever we 
passed by the door of a certain unfurnished room, in which 
we neither saw nor heard anything. And the strangest 
marvel of all was, that for once in my life I agreed with 
my wife, silly woman though she be, — and allowed, after 
the third night, that it was impossible to stay a fourth 
in that house. Accordingly, on the fourth morning I sum- 
moned the woman who kept the house and attended on us, 
and told her that the rooms did not quite suit us, and we 
would not stay out our week. She said dryly, 'I know 
why; you have stayed longer than any other lodger. Few 
ever stayed a second night; none before you a third. But 
I take it they have been very kind to you.' 

" 'They, — who?' I asked, affecting to smile. 

" 'Why, they who haunt the house, whoever they are. 
I don't mind them. I remember them many years ago, 
when I lived in this house, not as a servant; but I know 
they will be the death of me some day. I don't care, — 
I'm old, and must die soon anyhow; and then I shall be 
with them, and in this house still.' The woman spoke 
with so dreary a calmness that really it was a sort of awe 
that prevented my conversing with her further. I paid 
for my week, and too happy were my wife and I to get 
off so cheaply." 

"You excite my curiosity," said I; "nothing I should 
like better than to sleep in a haunted house. Pray give 
me the address of the one which you left so ignominiously." 

My friend gave me the address; and when we parted, 
I walked straight towards the house thus indicated. 

It is situated on the north side of Oxford Street, in a 
dull but respectable thoroughfare. I found the house 
shut up, — no bill at the window, and no response to my 
knock. As I was turning away, a beer-boy, collecting 



142 THE SHOET STORY 

pewter pots at the neighboring areas, said to me, "Do you 
want any one at that house, sir?" 

"Yes, I heard it was to be let." 

"Let! — why, the woman who kept it is dead, — has been 
dead these three weeks, and no one can be found to stay 

there, though Mr. J offered ever so much. He offered 

mother, who chars for him, =£1 a week just to open and 
shut the windows, and she would not." 

"Would not! — and why?" 

"The house is haunted; and the old woman who kept it 
was found dead in her bed, with her eyes wide open. They 
say the devil strangled her." 

"Pooh ! You speak of Mr. J . Is he the owner 

of the house?" 

"Yes." 

"Where does he live?" 

"In G Street, No. — ." 

"What is he? In any business?" 

"No, sir, — nothing particular; a single gentleman." 

I gave the pot-boy the gratuity earned by his liberal 

information, and proceeded to Mr. J , in G Street, 

which was close by the street that boasted the haunted 

house. I was lucky enough to find Mr. J at home, — 

an elderly man with intelligent countenance and pre- 
possessing manners. 

I communicated my name and my business frankly. I 
said I heard the house was considered to be haunted, — that 
I had a strong desire to examine a house with so equivocal 
a reputation; that I should be greatly obliged if he would 
allow me to hire it, though only for a night. I was willing 
to pay for that privilege whatever he might be inclined 

to ask. "Sir," said Mr. J , with great courtesy, "the 

house is at your service, for as short or as long a time as 
you please. Rent is out of the question, — the obligation 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTEKS 143 

will be on my side should you be able to discover the cause 
of the strange phenomena which at present deprive it of 
all value. I cannot let it, for I cannot even get a servant 
to keep it in order or answer the door. Unluckily the 
house is haunted, if I may use that expression, not only 
by night, but by day; though at night the disturbances 
are of a more unpleasant and sometimes of a more alarming 
character. The poor old woman who died in it three weeks 
ago was a pauper whom I took out of a workhouse; for in 
her childhood she had been known to some of my family, 
and had once been in such good circumstances that she 
had rented that house of my uncle. She was a woman of 
superior education and strong mind, and was the only 
person I could ever induce to remain in the house. Indeed, 
since her death, which was sudden, and the coroner's 
inquest, which gave it a notoriety in the neighborhood, I 
have so despaired of finding any person to take charge 
of the house, much more a tenant, that I would 'willingly 
let it rent free for a year to any one who would pay its 
rates and taxes." 

"How long is it since the house acquired this sinister 
character?" 

"That I can scarcely tell you, but very many years since. 
The old woman I spoke of, said it was haunted when she 
rented it between thirty and forty years ago. The fact 
is, that my life has been spent in the East Indies, and in 
the civil service of the Company. I returned to England 
last year, on inheriting the fortune of an uncle, among 
whose possessions was the house in question. I found it 
shut up and uninhabited. I was told that it was haunted, 
that no one would inhabit it. I smiled at what seemed 
to me so idle a story. I spent some money in repairing 
it, added to its old-fashioned furniture a few modern 
articles, — advertised it, and obtained a lodger for a year. 



144 THE SHORT STORY 

He was a colonel on half-pay. He came in with his family, 
a son and a daughter, and four or five -servants ; they all 
left the house the next day; and, although each of them 
declared that he had seen something different from that 
which had scared the others, a something still was equally 
terrible to all. I really could not in conscience sue, nor 
even blame, the colonel for breach of agreement. Then 
I put in the old woman I have spoken of, and she was 
empowered to let the house in apartments. I never had 
one lodger who stayed more than three days. I do not 
tell you their stories, — to no two lodgers have there been 
exactly the same phenomena repeated. It is better that 
you should judge for yourself, than enter the house with 
an imagination influenced by previous narratives; only be 
prepared to see and hear something or other, and take 
whatever precautions you yourself please." 

"Have you ever had a curiosity yourself to pass a night 
in that house?" 

"Yes. I passed not a night, but three hours in broad 
daylight alone in that house. My curiosity is not satisfied, 
but it is quenched. I have no desire to renew the experi- 
ment. You cannot complain, you see, sir, that I am not 
sufficiently candid; and unless your interest be exceedingly 
eager and your nerves unusually strong, I honestly add, 
that I advise you not to pass a night in that house." 

"My interest is exceedingly keen," said I ; "and though 
only a coward will boast of his nerves in situations wholly 
unfamiliar to him, yet my nerves have been seasoned in 
such variety of danger that I have the right to rely on 
them, — even in a haunted house." 

Mr. J said very little more; he took the keys of 

the house out of his bureau, gave them to me, — and, 
thanking him cordially for his frankness, and his urbane 
concession to my wish, I carried off my prize. 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 145 

Impatient for the experiment, as soon as I reached home, 
I summoned my confidential servant, — a young man of 
gay spirits, fearless temper, and as free from superstitious 
prejudice as any one I could think of. 

"F " said I, "you remember in Germany how dis- 
appointed we were at not finding a ghost in that old castle, 
which was said to be haunted by a headless apparition? 
Well, I have heard of a house in London, which, I have 
reason to hope, is decidedly haunted. I mean to sleep there 
tonight. From what I hear, there is no doubt that some- 
thing will allow itself to be seen or to be heard, — something, 
perhaps, excessively horrible. Do you think, if I take 
you with me, I may rely on your presence of mind, what- 
ever may happen?" 

"Oh, sir, pray trust me," answered F , grinning with 

delight. 

"Very well; then here are the keys of the house, — this 
is the address. Go now,— select for me any bedroom you 
please; and since the house has not been inhabited for 
weeks, make up a good fire, air the bed well, — see, of 
course, that there are candles as well as fuel. Take with 
you my revolver and my dagger, — so much for my weapons ; 
arm yourself equally well; and if we are not a match 
for a dozen ghosts, we shall be but a sorry couple of 
Englishmen. 

I was engaged for the rest of the day on business so 
urgent that I had not leisure to think much on the nocturnal 
adventure to which I had plighted my honor. I dined 
alone, and very late, and while dining, read, as is my 
habit. I selected one of the volumes of Macaulay's 
Essays. I thought to myself that I would take the book 
with me ; there was so much of healthfulness in the style, 
and practical life in the subjects, that it would serve as 
an antidote against the influences of superstitious fancy. 



146 THE SHOET STOEY 

Accordingly, about half-past nine, I put the book into 
my pocket, and strolled leisurely towards the haunted 
house. I took with me a favorite dog: an exceedingly 
sharp, bold, and vigilant bull-terrier, — a dog fond of 
prowling about strange, ghostly corners and passages at 
night in search of rats ; a dog of dogs for a ghost. 

It was a summer night, but chilly, the sky somewhat 
gloomy and overcast. Still there was a moon, faint and 
sickly but still a moon, and if the clouds permitted, after 
midnight it would be brighter. 

I reached the house, knocked, and my servant opened 
with a cheerful smile. 

"All right, sir, and very comfortable." 

"Oh!" said I, rather disappointed; "have you not seen 
nor heard anything remarkable ?" 

"Well, sir, I must own I have heard something queer." 

"What?— what?" 

"The sound of feet pattering behind me; and once or 
twice small noises like whispers close at my ear, — nothing 
more." 

"You are not at all frightened ?" 

"I! not a bit of it, sir;" and the man's bold look 
reassured me on one point, — namely, that happen what 
might, he would not desert me. 

We were in the hall, the street-door closed, and my 
attention was now drawn to my dog. He had at first run 
in eagerly enough, but had sneaked back to the door, and 
was scratching and whining to get out. After patting him 
on the head, and encouraging him gently, the dog seemed 
to reconcile himself to the situation, and followed me and 

F through the house, but keeping close at my heels 

instead of hurrying inquisitively in advance, which was 
his usual and normal habit in all strange places. We first 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTEES 147 

visited the subterranean apartments, — the kitchen and 
other offices, and especially the cellars, in which last there 
were two or three bottles of wine still left in a bin, covered 
with cobwebs, and evidently, by their appearance, undis- 
turbed for many years. It was clear that the ghosts wereJL- 
not winebibbers. For the rest we discovered nothing of 
interest. There was a gloomy little backyard, with very 
high walls. The stones of this yard were very damp ; and 
what with the damp, and what with the dust and smoke- 
grime on the pavement, our feet left a slight impression 
where we passed. And now appeared the first strange 
phenomenon witnessed by myself in this strange abode. 
I saw, just before me, the print of a foot suddenly form 
itself, as it were. I stopped, caught hold of my servant, 
and pointed to it. In advance of that footprint as sud- 
denly dropped another. We both saw it. I advanced 
quickly to the place: the footprint kept advancing before 
me, a small footprint, — the foot of a child: the impression 
was too faint thoroughly to distinguish the shape, but it 
seemed to us both that it was the print of a naked foot. 
This phenomenon ceased when we arrived at the opposite 
wall, nor did it repeat itself on returning. We remounted 
the stairs, and entered the rooms on the ground-floor, a 
dining parlor, a small back-parlor, and a still smaller third 
room that had been probably appropriated to a footman, — 
all still as death. We then visited the drawing-rooms, 
which seemed fresh and new. In the front room I seated 

myself in an arm-chair. F placed on the table the 

candlestick with which he had lighted us. I told him to 
shut the door. As he turned to do so a chair opposite to 
me moved from the wall quickly and noiselessly, and 
dropped itself about a yard from my own chair, immediately 
fronting it. 



148 THE SHORT STORY 

"Why, this is better than the turning-tables/' said I, with 
a half-laugh; and as I laughed, my dog put back his head 
and howled. 

F , coming back, had not observed the movement 

of the chair. He employed himself now in stilling the 
dog. I continued to gaze on the chair, and fancied I saw- 
on it a pale, blue, misty outline of a human figure, but an 
outline so indistinct that I could only distrust my own 
vision. The dog now was quiet. 

"Put back that chair opposite to me," said I to F ; 

"put it back to the wall." 

F obeyed. "Was that you, sir?" said he, turning 

abruptly. 

"I!— what?" 

"Why, something struck me. I felt it sharply on the 
shoulder, — just here." 

"No," said I. "But we have jugglers present, and 
though we mav not discover their tricks, we shall catch 
them before they frighten us." 

We did not stay long in the drawing-rooms, — in fact, 
they felt so damp and so chilly that I was glad to get to 
the fire upstairs. We locked the doors of the drawing- 
rooms, — a precaution which, I should observe, we had 
taken with all the rooms we had searched below. The 
bedroom my servant had selected for me was the best on 
the floor, — a large one, with two windows fronting the 
street. The four-posted bed, which took up no incon- 
siderable space, was opposite to the fire, which burned 
clear and bright; a door in the wall to the left, between 
the bed and the window, communicated with the room 
which my servant appropriated to himself. This last was 
a small room with a sofa-bed, and had no communication 
with the landing-place, — no other door but that which 
conducted to the bedroom I was to occupy. On either side 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 149 

of my fireplace was a cupboard without locks, flush with 
the wall, and covered with the same dull-brown paper. 
We examined these cupboards, — only hooks to suspend 
female dresses, nothing else; we sounded the walls, — 
evidently solid, the outer walls of the building. Having 
finished the survey of these apartments, warmed myself 
a few moments, and lighted my cigar, I then, still accom- 
panied by F , went forth to complete my reconnoitre. 

In the landing-place there was another door; it was closed 
firmly. "Sir," said my servant, in surprise, "I unlocked 
this door with all the others when I first came; it cannot 
have got locked from the inside, for — " 

Before he had finished his sentence, the door, which 
neither of us then was touching, opened quietly of itself. 
We looked at each other a single instant. The same 
thought seized both, — some human agency might be de- 
tected here. I rushed in first, my servant followed. A 
small, blank, dreary room without furniture; a few empty 
boxes and hampers in a corner; a small window; the 
shutters closed; not even a fireplace; no other door but 
that by which we had entered; no carpet on the floor, and 
the floor seemed very old, uneven, worm-eaten, mended 
here and there, as was shown by the whiter patches on the 
wood; but no living being, and no visible place in which 
a living being could have hidden. As we stood gazing 
round, the door by which we had entered closed as quietly 
as it had before opened; we were imprisoned. 

For the first time I felt a creep of undefinable horror. 
Not so my servant. "Why, they don't think to trap us, 
sir; I could break that trumpery door with a kick of 
my foot." 

"Try first if it will open to your hand," said I, shaking 
off the vague apprehension that had seized me, "while 
I unclose the shutters and see what is without." 



150 THE SHORT STOEY 

I unbarred the shutters, — the window looked on the 
little backyard I have before described; there was no 
ledge without. — nothing to break the sheer descent of the 
wall. No man getting out of that window would have 
found any footing till he had fallen on the stones below. 

F , meanwhile, was vainly attempting to open the 

door. He now turned round to me and asked my per- 
mission to use force. And I should here state, in justice 
to the servant, that, far from evincing any superstitious 
terrors, his nerve, composure, and even gayety amidst 
circumstances so extraordinary, compelled my admiration, 
and made me congratulate myself on having secured a com- 
panion in every way fitted to the occasion. I willingly 
gave him the permission he required. But though he was 
a remarkably strong man, his force was as idle as his 
milder efforts; the door did not even shake to his stoutest 
kick. Breathless and panting, he desisted. I then tried 
the door myself, equally in vain. As I ceased from the 
effort, again that creep of horror came over me; but this 
time it was more cold and stubborn. I felt as if some 
strange and ghastly exhalation were rising up from the 
chinks of that rugged floor, and filling the atmosphere 
with a venomous influence hostile to human life. The door 
now very slowly and quietly opened as of its own accord. 
We precipitated ourselves into the landing-place. We 
both saw a large, pale light — as large as the human figure, 
but shapeless and unsubstantial — move before us, and 
ascend the stairs that led from the landing into the attics. 
I followed the light, and my servant followed me. It 
entered, to the right of the landing, a small garret, of 
which the door stood open. I entered in the same instant. 
The light then collapsed into a small globule, exceedingly 
brilliant and vivid, rested a moment on a bed in the corner, 
quivered, and vanished. We approached the bed and 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTEKS 151 

examined it, — a half-tester 1 such as is commonly found in 
attics devoted to servants. On the drawers that stood near 
it we perceived an old faded silk kerchief, with the needle 
still left in a rent half repaired. The kerchief was covered 
with dust; probably it had belonged to the old woman who 
had last died in that house, and this might have been her 
sleeping-room. I had sufficient curiosity to open the 
drawers: there were a few odds and ends of female dress, 
and two letters tied round with a narrow ribbon of faded 
yellow. I took the liberty to possess myself of the letters. 
We found nothing else in the room worth noticing, — nor 
did the light reappear; but we distinctly heard, as we 
turned to go, a pattering footfall on the floor, just before 
us. We went through the other attics (in all four), the 
footfall still preceding us. Nothing to be seen, — nothing 
but the footfall heard. I had the letters in my hand; just 
as I was descending the stairs I distinctly felt my wrist 
seized, and a faint, soft effort made to draw the letters 
from my clasp. I only held them the more tightly, and 
the effort ceased. 

We regained the bedchamber appropriated to myself, 
and 1 then remarked that my dog had not followed us when 
we had left it. He was thrusting himself close to the lire, 
and trembling. I was impatient to examine the letters; 
and while I read them, my servant opened a little box 
in which he had deposited the weapons I had ordered him 
to bring, took them out, placed them on a table close, at 
my bed-head, and then occupied himself in soothing the 
dog, who, however, seemed to heed him very little. 

The letters were short, — they were dated; the dates 
exactly thirty-five years ago. They were evidently from 
a lover to his mistress, or a husband to some young wife. 

(1) half-tester: a tester was a bed with four high posts sup- 
porting a canopy. In the half-tester the canopy extended only half 
the length of the bed. 



152 THE SHORT STORY 

Not only the terms of expression, but a distinct reference 
to a former voyage, indicated the writer to have been a 
seafarer. The spelling and handwriting were those of 
a man imperfectly educated, but still the language itself 
was forcible. ^ In the expressions of endearment there was 
a kind of rough, wild love; but here and there were dark 
unintelligible hints at some secret not of love, — some 
secret that seemed of crime. "We ought to love each 
other," was one of the sentences I remember, "for how 
every one else would execrate us if all was known." 
Again: "Don't let any one be in the same room with you 
at night, — you talk in your sleep," And again: "What's 
done can't be undone ; and I tell you there's nothing 
against us unless the dead could come to life." • Here there 
was underlined in a better handwriting (a female's), 
"They do!" At the end of the letter latest in date the 
same female hand had written these words: "Lost at sea 
the 4th of June, the same day as — " 

I put down the letters, and began to muse over their 
contents. 

Fearing, however, that the train of thought into which 
I fell might unsteady my nerves, I fully determined 
to keep my mind in a fit state to cope with whatever of 
marvellous the advancing night might bring forth. I roused 
myself; laid the letters on the table; stirred up the fire, 
which was still bright and cheering ; and opened my volume 
of Macaulay. I read quietly enough till about half-past 
eleven. I then threw myself dressed upon the bed, and 
told my servant he might retire to his own room, but must 
keep himself awake. I bade him leave open the door 
between the two rooms. Thus alone, I kept two candles 
burning on the table by my bed-head. I placed my watch 
beside the weapons, and calmly resumed my Macaulay. 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTEKS 153 

Opposite to me the fire burned clear; and on the hearth- 
rug, seemingly asleep, lay the dog. In about twenty 
minutes I felt an exceedingly cold air pass by my cheek, 
like a sudden draught. I fancied the door to my right, 
communicating with the landing-place, must have got 
open; but no, — it was closed. I then turned my glance 
to my left, and saw the flame of the candles violently 
swayed as by a wind. At the same moment the watch 
beside the revolver softly slid from the table, — softly, 
softly ; no visible hand, — it was gone. I sprang up, seizing 
the revolver with the one hand, the dagger with the other; 
I was not willing that my weapons should share the fate 
of the watch. Thus armed, I looked round the floor, — no 
sign of the watch. Three slow, loud, distinct knocks were 
now heard at the bed-head ; my servant called out, "Is that 
you, sir?" 

"No; be on your guard." 

The dog now roused himself and sat on his haunches, 
his ears moving quickly backwards and forwards. He 
kept his eyes fixed on me with a look so strange that he 
concentrated all my attention on himself. Slowly he rose 
up, all his hair bristling, and stood perfectly rigid, and 
with the same wild stare. I had no time, however, to 
examine the dog. Presently my servant emerged from 
his room; and if ever I saw horror in the human face, 
it was then. I should not have recognized him had we 
met in the street, so altered was every lineament. He 
passed by me quickly, saying, in a whisper that seemed 
scarcely to come from his lips, "Run, run i it is after me !" 
He gained the door to the landing, pulled it open, and 
rushed forth. I followed him into the landing involun- 
tarily, calling him to stop ; but, without heeding me, he 
bounded down the stairs, clinging to the balusters, and 



154 THE SHOET STORY 

taking several steps at a time. I heard, where I stood,- 
the street-door open, — heard it again clap to. I was left 
alone in the haunted house. 

It was but for a moment that 1 remained undecided 
whether or not to follow my servant; pride and curiosity- 
alike forbade so dastardly a flight. I re-entered my room, 
closing the door after me, and proceeded cautiously into 
the interior chamber. I encountered nothing to justify 
my servant's terror. I again carefully examined the walls, 
to see if there were any concealed door. I could find no 
trace of one, — not even a seam in the dull-brown paper 
with which the room was hung. How, then, had the Thing, 
whatever it was, which had so scared him, obtained ingress 
except through my own chamber? 

I returned to my room, shut and locked the door that 
opened upon the interior one, and stood on the hearth, 
expectant and prepared. I now perceived that the dog 
had slunk into an angle of the wall, and was pressing 
himself close against it, as if literally striving to force 
his way into it. I approached the animal and spoke to it; 
the poor brute was evidently beside itself with terror. It 
showed all its teeth, the slaver dropping from its jaws, 
and would certainly have bitten me if I had touched it. 
It did not seem to recognize me. Whoever has seen at 
the Zoological Gardens a rabbit, fascinated by a serpent, 
cowering in a corner, may form some idea of the anguish 
which the dog exhibited. Finding all efforts to soothe 
the animal in vain, and fearing that his bite might be as 
venomous in that state as in the madness of hydrophobia, 
I left him alone, placed my weapons on the table beside 
the fire, seated mvself, and recommenced my Macaulay. 

Perhaps, in order not to apr>ear seeking credit for a 
courage, or rather a coolness, which the reader may con- 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTEES 155 

ceive I exaggerate, I may be pardoned if I pause to indulge 
in one or two egotistical remarks. . 

As I hold presence of mind, or what is called courage, 
to be precisely proportioned to familiarity with the circum- 
stances that lead to it, so I should say that I had been long 
sufficiently familiar with all experiments that appertain 
to the marvellous. I had witnessed many very extraordi- 
nary phenomena in various parts of the world, — phenomena 
that would be either totally disbelieved if I stated their 
or ascribed to supernatural agencies. Now, my theor\ 
is that the supernatural is the impossible, and that what 
is called supernatural is only a something in the laws ol 
Nature of which we have been hitherto ignorant. There- 
fore, if a ghost rise before me, I have not the right to say, 
"So, then, the supernatural is possible;" but rather, 'So 
then, the apparition of a ghost, is, contrary to received 
opinion, within the laws of Nature, — that is, not super- 
natural." 

Now, in all that I had hitherto witnessed, and indeed 
in all the wonders which the amateurs of mystery in our 
age record as facts, a material living agency is always 
required. On the Continent you will find still magicians 
who assert that they can raise spirits. Assume for the 
moment that they assert truly, still the living material form 
of the magician is present; and he is the material agency 
by which, from some constitutional peculiarities, certain 
strange phenomena are represented to your natural senses. 

Accept, again, as truthful, the tales of spirit-manifesta- 
tion in America, — musical or other sounds; writings on 
paper, produced by no discernible hand; articles of furni- 
ture moved without apparent human agency; or the actual 
sight and touch of hands, to which no bodies seem to 
belong, — still there must be found the medium, or living 



156 THE SHOET STORY 

being, with constitutional peculiarities capable of obtaining 
these signs. In fine, in all such marvels, supposing even 
that there is no imposture, there must be a human being 
like ourselves by whom, or through whom, the effects 
presented to human beings are produced. It is so with 
the now familiar phenomena of mesmerism or elec':ro- 
biology; the mind of the person operated on is affected 
through a material living agent. Nor, supposing it true 
that a mesmerized patient can respond to the will or 
passes of a mesmerizer a hundred miles distant, is the 
response less occasioned by a material being; it may be 
through a material fluid — call it Electric, call it Odic 1 , call 
it what you will — which has the power of traversing space 
and passing obstacles, that the material effect is communi- 
cated from one to the other. Hence, all that I had hitherto 
witnessed, or expected to witness, in this strange house, 
I believed to be occasioned through some agency or medium 
as mortal as myself; and this idea necessarily prevented 
the awe with which those who regard as supernatural 
things that are not within the ordinary operations of 
Nature, might have been impressed by the adventures of 
that memorable night. 

. As, then, it was my conjecture that all that was pre- 
sented, or would be presented to my senses, must originate 
in some human being gifted by constitution with the power 
so to present them, and having some motive so to do, I felt 
an interest in my theory which, in its way, was rather 
philosophical than superstitious. And I can sincerely say 
that I was in as tranquil a temper for observation as any 
practical experimentalist could be in awaiting the effects 
of some rare, though perhaps perilous, chemical combina- 
tion. Of course, the more I kept my mind detached from 
fancy, the more the temper fitted for observation would 

(1) Odic : a name given to the influence excited in mesmerism. 






THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTEBS 157 

be obtained; and I therefore riveted eye and thought on 
the strong daylight sense in the page of my Macaulay. 

I now became aware that something interposed between 
the page and the light, — the page was over-shadowed. 
I looked up, and I saw what I shall find it very* difficult, 
perhaps impossible, to describe. 

It was a Darkness shaping itself forth from the air in 
very undefined outline. I cannot say it was of a human 
form, and yet it had more resemblance to a human form, 
or rather shadow, than to anything else. As it stood, 
wholly apart and distinct from the air and the light around 
it, its dimensions seemed gigantic, the summit nearly touch- 
ing the ceiling. While I gazed, a feeling of intense cold 
seized me. An iceberg before me could not more have 
chilled me; nor could the cold of an iceberg have been 
more purely physical. I feel convinced that it was not the 
cold caused by fear. As I continued to gaze, I thought — 
but this I cannot say with precision — that I distinguished 
two eyes looking down on me from the height. One moment 
I fancied that I distinguished them clearly, the next they 
seemed gone; but still two rays of a pale-blue light fre- 
quently shot through the darkness, as from the height on 
which I half believed, half doubted, that I had encountered 
the eyes. 

I strove to speak, — my voice utterly failed me; I could 
only think to myself, "Is this fear? It is not fear!" I 
strove to rise, — in vain; I felt as if weighed down by an 
irresistible force. Indeed, my impression was that of an 
immense and overwhelming Power opposed to my volition, 
— that sense of utter inadequacy to cope with a force 
beyond man's, which one may feel physically in a storm at 
sea, in a conflagration, or when confronting some terrible 
wild beast, or rather, perhaps, the shark of the ocean, 
I felt morally. Opposed to my will was another will, as 



15S THE SHORT STORY 

far superior to its strength as storm, fire, and shark are 
superior in material force to the force of man. 

And now, as this impression grew on me,— now came, 
at last, horror, horror to a degree that no words can 
convey. Still I retained pride, if not courage; and in 
my own mind I said, "This is horror, but it is not fear; 
unless I fear I cannot be harmed; my reason rejects this 
thing; it is an illusion, — I do not fear." With a violent 
effort I succeeded at last in stretching out my hand towards 
the weapon on the table; as I did so, on the arm and 
shoulder I received a strange shock, and my arm fell to 
my side powerless. And now, to add to my horror, the 
light began slowly to wane from the candles, — they were 
not, as it were, extinguished, but their flame seemed very 
gradually withdrawn; it was the same with the fire, — the 
light was extracted from the fuel; in a few minutes the 
room was in utter darkness. The dread that came over 
me, to be thus in the dark with that dark Thing, whose 
power was so intensely felt, brought a reaction of nerve. 
In fact, terror had reached that climax, that either my 
senses must have deserted me, or I must have burst through 
the spell. I did burst through it. I found voice, though 
the voice was a shriek. I remember that I broke forth 
with words like these, "I do not fear, my soul does not 
fear ;" and at the same time I found strength to rise. Still 
in that profound gloom I rushed to one of the windows; 
tore aside the curtain; flung open the shutters; my first 
thought was — light. And when I saw the moon high, 
clear, and calm, I felt a joy that almost compensated for 
the previous terror. There was the moon, there was also 
the light from the gas-lamps in the deserted slumberous 
street. I turned to look back into the room; the moon 
penetrated its shadow very palely and partially, — but still 
there was light. The dark Thing, whatever it might be, 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTEES 159 

was gone, — except that I could yet see a dim shadow, 
which seemed the shadow of that shade, against the opposite 
wall. 

My eye now rested on the table, and from under the 
table (which was without cloth or cover, — an old mahogany 
round-table) there rose a hand, visible as far as the wrist. 
It was a hand, seemingly, as much of flesh and blood as 
my own, but the hand of an aged person, lean, wrinkled, 
small too, — a woman's hand. That hand very softly 
closed on the two letters that lay on the table; hand and 
letters both vanished. There then came the same three 
loud, measured knocks I had heard at the bed-head before 
this extraordinary drama had commenced. 

As those sounds slowly ceased, I felt the whole room 
vibrate sensibly; and at the far end there rose, as from 
the floor, sparks or globules like bubbles of light, many 
colored, — green, yellow, fire-red, azure. Up and down, to 
and fro, hither, thither, as tiny Will-o'-the-Wisps, the 
sparks moved, slow or swift, each at its own caprice. A 
chair (as in the drawing-room below) was now advanced 
from the wall without apparent agency, and placed at the 
opposite side of the table. Suddenly, as forth from the 
chair, there grew a shape, — a woman's .shape. It was 
distinct as a shape of life, — ghastly as a shape of death. 
The face was that of youth, with a strange, mournful 
beauty; the throat and shoulders were bare, the rest of 
the form in a loose robe of cloudy white. It began sleeking 
its long yellow hair, which fell over its shoulders ; its eyes 
were not turned towards me, but to the door; it seemed 
listening, watching, waiting. The shadoAV of the shade in 
the background grew darker; and again I thought I beheld 
the eyes gleaming out from the summit of the shadow, — 
eyes fixed upon that shape. 

As if from the door, though it did not open, there grew 



160 THE SHORT STORY 

out another shape, equally distinct, equally ghastly, — a 
man's shape, a young man's. It was in the dress of the 
last century, or rather in a likeness of such dress (for 
both the male shape and the female, though defined, were 
evidently unsubstantial, impalpable, — simulacra, phan- 
tasms) ; and there was something incongruous, grotesque, 
yet fearful, in the contrast between the elaborate finery, 
the courtly precision of that old-fashioned garb, with its it 
ruffles and lace and buckles, and the corpse-like aspect and 
ghost-like stillness cf the flitting wearer. Just as the male 
shape approached the female, the dark Shadow started 
from the wall, all three for a moment wrapped in darkness. 
When the pale light returned, the two phantoms were as 
if in the grasp of the Shadow that towered between them; 
and there was a blood-stain on the breast of the female; 
and the phantom male was leaning on its phantom sword, 
and blood seemed trickling fast from the ruffles, from the 
lace; and the darkness of the intermediate Shadow swal- 
lowed them up, — they were gone. And again the bubbles 
of light shot, and sailed, and undulated, growing thicker 
and thicker and more wildly confused in their movements. 
The closet door to the right of the fireplace now opened, 
and from the aperture there came the form of an aged 
woman. In her hand she held letters, — the very letters ii 
over which I had seen the Hand close; and behind her 
I heard a footstep. She turned round as if to listen, and 
then she opened the letters and seemed to read; and over 
her shoulder I saw a livid face, the face as of a man long 
drowned, — bloated, bleached, seaweed tangled in its drip- 
ping hair; and at her feet lay a form as of a corpse; and 
beside the corpse there cowered a child, a miserable, 
squalid child, with famine in its cheeks and fear in its 
eyes. And as I looked in the old woman's face, the 
wrinkles and lines vanished, and it became a face of youth, 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 161 

— hard-eyed, stony, but still youth ; and the Shadow darted 
forth, and darkened over these phantoms as it had darkened 
over the last. 

Nothing now was left but the Shadow, and on that my 
eyes were intently fixed, till again eyes grew out of the 
Shadow, — malignant, serpent eyes. And the bubbles of 
light again rose and fell, and in their disordered, irregular, 
turbulent maze, mingled with the wan moonlight. And now 
from these globules themselves, as from the shell of an 
egg, monstrous things burst out; the air grew filled with 
them: larva? so bloodless and so hideous that I can in no 
way describe them except to remind the reader of the 
swarming life which the solar microscope brings before 
his eyes in a drop of water, — things transparent, supple, 
agile, chasing each other, devouring each other; forms 
like nought ever beheld by the naked eye. As the shapes 
were without symmetry, so their movements were without 
order. In their very vagrancies there was no sport; they 
came round me and round, thicker and faster and swifter, 
swarming over my head, crawling over my right arm, which 
was outstretched in involuntary command against all evil 
beings. Sometimes I felt myself touched, but not by them; 
invisible hands touched me. Once I felt the clutch as of 
cold, soft fingers at my throat. I was still equally conscious 
that if I gave way to fear I should be in bodily peril; and 
I concentred all my faculties in the single focus of resisting 
stubborn will. And I turned my sight from the Shadow;* 
above all, from those strange serpent eyes, — eyes that had 
now become distinctly visible. For there, though in nought 
else around me, I was aware that there was a WILL, and 
a will of intense, creative, working evil, which might crush 
down my own. 

The pale atmosphere in the room began now to redden 
as if in the air of some near conflagration. The larvae 



162 THE SHOKT STOBY 

grew lurid as things that live in fire. Again the room 
vibrated; again were heard the three measured knocks; 
and again all things were swallowed up in the darkness 
of the dark Shadow, as if out of that darkness all had 
come, into that darkness all returned. 

As the gloom receded, the Shadow was wholly gone. 
Slowly, as it had been withdrawn, the flame grew again 
into the candles on the table, again into the fuel in the 
grate. The whole room came once more calmly, healthfully 
into sight. 

The two doors were still closed, the door communicating 
with the servant's room still locked. In the corner of the 
wall, into which he had so convulsively niched himself, lay 
the dog. I called to him, — no movement; I approached, — 
the animal was dead : his eyes protruded ; his tongue out 
of his mouth; the froth gathered round his jaws. I took 
him in my arms; I brought him to the fire. I felt acute 
grief for the loss of my poor favorite, — acute self-reproach ; 
I accused myself of his death; I imagined he had died of 
fright. But what was my surprise on finding that his neck 
was actually broken. Had this been done in the dark? 
Must it not have been by a hand human as mine; must 
there not have been a human agency all the while in that 
room? Good cause to suspect it. I cannot tell. I cannot 
do more than state the fact fairly; the reader may draw 
his own inference. 

Another surprising circumstance, — my watch was re- 
stored to the table from which it had been so mysteriously 
withdrawn; but it had stopped at the very moment it was 
so withdrawn, nor, despite all the skill of the watchmaker, 
has it ever gone since, — that is, it will go in a strange, 
erratic way for a few hours, and then come to a dead stop; 
it is worthless. 

Nothing more chanced for the rest of the night. Nor, 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 163 

indeed, had I long to wait before the dawn broke. Nor till 
it was broad daylight did I quit the haunted house. Before 
I did so, I revisited the little blind room in which my 
servant and myself had been for a time imprisoned. I had 
a strong impression — for which I could not account — that 
from that room had originated the mechanism of the phe- 
nomena, if I may use the term, which had been experienced 
in my chamber. And though I entered it now in the clear 
day, with the sun peering through the filmy window, I still 
felt, as I stood on its floors, the creep of the horror which 
I had first there experienced the night before, and which 
had been so aggravated by what had passed in my own 
chamber. I could not, indeed, bear to stay more than 
half a minute within those walls. I descended the stairs, 
and again I heard the footfall before me; and when I 
opened the street door, I thought I could distinguish a 
very low laugh. I gained my own home, expecting to find 
my runaway servant there; but he had not presented him- 
self, nor did I hear more of him for three days, when I 
received a letter from him, dated from Liverpool to this 
effect : — 

"Honored Sir, — I humbly entreat your pardon, though 
I can scarcely hope that you will think that I deserve it, 
unless — which Heaven forbid ! — you saw what I did. I feel 
that it will be years before I can recover myself ; and as to 
being fit for service, it is out of the question. I am there- 
fore, going to my brother-in-law at Melbourne. The ship 
sails tomorrow. Perhaps the long voyage may set me up. 
I do nothing now but start and tremble, and fancy it is 
behind me. I humbly beg you, honored sir, to order my 
clothes, and whatever wages are due to me, to be sent to 
my mother's, at Walworth, — John knows her address." 

The letter ended with additional apologies, somewhat 
incoherent, and explanatory details as to effects that had 
been under the writer's charge. 



164 THE SHORT STOEY 

This flight may perhaps warrant a suspicion that the 
man wished to go to Australia, and had been somehow 
or other fraudulently mixed up with the events of the 
night. I say nothing in refutation of that conjecture; 
rather, I suggest it as one that would seem to many per- 
sons the most probable solution of improbable occurrences. 
My belief in my own theory remained unshaken. I 
returned in the evening to the house, to bring away in 
a hack cab the things I had left there, with my poor 
dog's body. In this task I was not disturbed, nor did 
any incident worth note befall me, except that still, on 
ascending and descending the stairs, I heard the same 
footfall in advance. On leaving the house, I went to 

Mr. J 's. He was at home. I returned him the keys, 

told him that my curiosity was sufficiently gratified, and 
was about to relate quickly what had passed, when he 
stopped me, and said, though with much politeness, that 
he had no longer any interest in a mystery which none 
had ever solved. 

I determined at least to tell him of the two letters I had 
read, as well as of the extraordinary manner in which 
they had disappeared; and I then inquired if he thought 
they had been addressed to the woman who had died in 
the house, and if there were anything in her early history 
which could possibly confirm the dark suspicions to which 

the letters gave rise. Mr. J seemed startled, and, 

after musing a few moments, answered, "I am but little 
acquainted with the woman's earlier history, except as I 
before told you, that her family were known to mine. 
But you revive some vague reminiscences to her prej Li- 
dice. I will make inquiries, and inform you of their 
result. Still, even if we could admit the popular super- 
stition that a person who had been either the perpetrator 
or the victim of dark crimes in life could revisit, as a 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 165 

restless spirit, the scene in which those crimes had been 
committed, I should observe that the house was infested 
by strange sights and sounds before the old woman died — 
you smile — what would you say?" 

"I would say this, that I am convinced, if we could 
get to the bottom of these mysteries, we should find a 
living human agency." 

"What! you believe it is all an imposture? For what 
object?" 

"Not an imposture in the ordinary sense of the word. 
If suddenly I were to sink into a deep sleep, from which 
you could not awake me, but in that sleep could answer 
questions with an accuracy which I could not pretend to 
when awake, — tell you what money you had in your 
pocket, nay, describe your very thoughts, — it is not 
necessarily an imposture, any more than it is necessarily 
supernatural. I should be, unconsciously to myself, under 
a mesmeric influence, conveyed to me from a distance by 
a human being who had acquired power over me by 
previous rapport." 1 

"But if a mesmerizer could so affect another living 
being, can you suppose that a mesmerizer could also affect 
inanimate objects: move chairs, — open and shut doors?" 

"Or impress our senses with the belief in such effects, 
— we never having been en rapport with the person acting 
on us ? No. What is commonly called mesmerism could 
not do this ; but there may be a power akin to mesmerism, 
and superior to it, — the power that in the old days we 
called Magic. That such a power may extend to all 
inanimate objects of matter, I do not say; but if so, it 
would not be against Nature, — it would be only a rare 
power in Nature which might be given to constitutions 
with certain peculiarities, and cultivated by practice to 

(1) rapport : accord, harmony. 



166 THE SHOET STORY 

an extraordinary degree. That such a power might extend 
over the dead, — that is, over certain thoughts and memories 
that the dead may still retain, — and compel, not that which 
ought properly to be called the Soul, and which is far 
beyond human reach, but rather a phantom of what has 
been most earth-stained on earth, to make itself apparent 
to our senses, is a very ancient though obsolete theory 
upon which I will hazard no opinion. But I do not con- 
ceive the power would be supernatural. Let me illustrate 
what I mean from an experiment which Paracelsus 1 de- 
scribes as not difficult, and which the author of the 
'Curiosities of Literature' 2 cites as credible: A flower 
perishes; you burn it. Whatever were the elements of 
that flower while it lived are gone, dispersed, you know 
not whither; you can never discover nor re-collect them. 
But you can, by chemistry, out of the burned dust of that 
flower, raise a spectrum of the flower, just as it seemed 
in life. It may be the same with the human being. The 
soul has as much escaped you as the essence or elements 
of the flower. Still you may make a spectrum of it. And 
this phantom, though in the popular superstition it is held 
to be the soul of the departed, must not be confounded 
with the true soul; it is but the eidolon 3 of the dead form. 
Hence, like the best attested stories of ghosts or spirits, 
the thing that most strikes us is the absence of what we 
hold to be soul, — that is, of superior emancipated intelli- 
gence. These apparitions come for little or no object, — 
they seldom speak when they do come ; if they speak, they 
utter no ideas above those of an ordinary person on earth. 
American spirit-seers have published volumes of communi- 
cations, in prose and verse, which they assert to be given 
in the names of the most illustrious dead: Shakespeare, 

(1) Paracelsus : a famous alchemist of the sixteenth century. 

(2) Cariosities of Literature: by Isaac D'Israeli. 

(3) eidolon : a shade or apparition. 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 167 

Bacon, — Heaven knows whom. Those communications, 
taking the best, are certainly not a whit of higher order 
than would be communications from living persons of fair 
talent and education; they are wondrously inferior to what 
Bacon, Shakespeare, and Plato said and wrote when on 
earth. Nor, what is more noticeable, do they ever contain 
an idea that was not on the earth before. Wonderful, 
therefore, as such phenomena may be (granting them to 
be truthful), I see much that philosophy may question, 
nothing that it is incumbent on philosophy to deny, — 
namely, nothing supernatural. They are but ideas con- 
veyed somehow or other (we have not yet discovered the 
means) from one mortal brain to another. Whether, in 
so doing, tables walk of their own accord, or fiendlike 
shapes appear in a magic circle, or bodiless hands rise 
and remove material objects, or a Thing of Darkness, 
such as presented itself to me, freeze our blood, — still 
am I persuaded that these are but agencies conveyed, as 
by electric wires, to my own brain from the brain of 
another. In some constitutions there is a natural chem- 
istry, and those constitutions may produce chemic wonders, 
— in others a natural fluid, call it electricity, and these 
may produce electric wonders. But the wonders differ 
from Normal Science in this, — they are alike objectless, 
purposeless, puerile, frivolous. They lead on to no grand 
results; and therefore the world does not heed, and true 
sages have not cultivated them. But sure I am, that of 
all I saw or heard, a man, human as myself, was the 
remote originator; and I believe unconsciously to himself 
as to the exact effects produced, for this reason: no two 
persons, you say, have ever told you that they experienced 
exactly the same thing. Well, observe, no two persons 
ever experience exactly the same dream. If this were an 
ordinary imposture, the machinery would be arranged for 



168 THE SHORT STORY 

results that would but little vary; if it were a super- 
natural agency permitted b}^ the Almighty, it would surely 
be for some definite end. These phenomena belong to 
neither class; my persuasion is, that they originate in 
some brain now far distant ; that that brain had no distinct 
volition in anything that occurred; that what does occur 
reflects but its devious, motley, ever-shifting, half-formed 
thoughts ; in short, that it has been but the dreams of such 
a brain put into action and invested with a semi-substance. 
That this brain is of immense power, that it can set matter 
into movement, that it is malignant and destructive, I 
believe; some material force must have killed my dog; 
the same force might, for aught I know, have sufficed 
to kill myself, had I been as subjugated by terror as the 
dog, — had my intellect or my spirit given me no counter- 
vailing resistance in my will." 

"It killed your dog, — that is fearful! Indeed it is 
strange that no animal can be induced to stay in that 
house; not even a cat. Rats and mice are never found 
in it." 

"The instincts of the brute creation detect influences 
deadly to their existence. Man's reason has a sense less 
subtle, because it has a resisting power more supreme. 
But enough; do you comprehend my theory?" 

"Yes, though imperfectly, — and I accept any crotchet 
(pardon the word), however odd, rather than embrace at 
once the notion of ghosts and hobgoblins we imbibed in 
our nurseries. Still, to my unfortunate house, the evil is 
the same. What on earth can I do with the house?" 

"I will tell you what I would do. I am convinced from 
my own internal feelings that the small, unfurnished room 
at right angles to the door of the bed-room which I occu- 
pied, forms a starting-point or receptacle for the influences 
which haunt the house; and I strongly advise you to have 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 169 

the walls opened, the floor removed, — nay, the whole room 
pulled down. I observe that it is detached from the body 
of the house, built over the small backyard, and could 
be removed without injury to the rest of the building.'* 

"And you think, if I did that — " 

"You would cut off the telegraph wires. Try it. I am 
so persuaded that I am right, that I will pay half the 
expense if you will allow me to direct the operations." 

"Nay, I am well able to afford the cost; for the rest 
allow me to write to you." 

About ten days after I received a letter from Mr. J , 

telling me that he had visited the house since I had seen 
him; that he had found the two letters I had described, 
replaced in the drawer from which I had taken them; 
that he had read them with misgivings like my own; that 
he had instituted a cautious inquiry about the woman to 
whom I rightly conjectured they had been written. It 
seemed that thirty-six years ago (a year before the date 
of the letters) she had married, against the wish of her 
relations, an American of very suspicious character; in 
fact, he was generally believed to have been a pirate. She 
herself was the daughter of very respectable tradespeople, 
and had served in the capacity of a nursery governess 
before her marriage. She had a brother, a widower, who 
was considered wealthy, and who had one child of about 
six years old. A month after the marriage the body of this 
brother was found in the Thames, near London Bridge; 
there seemed some marks of violence about his throat, but 
they were not deemed sufficient to warrant the inquest 
in any other verdict than that of "found drowned." 

The American and his wife took charge of the little 
boy, the deceased brother having by his will left his sister 
the guardian of his only child, — and in event of the child's 
death the sister inherited. The child died about six months 



170 THE SHOET STOEY 

afterwards, — it was supposed to have been neglected and 
ill-treated. The neighbors deposed to have heard it shriek 
at night. The surgeon who had examined it after death 
said that it was emaciated as if from want of nourishment, 
and the body was covered with livid bruises. It seemed 
that one winter night the child had sought to escape ; crept 
out into the backyard; tried to scale the wall; fallen back 
exhausted ; and been found at morning on the stones in a 
dying state. But though there was some evidence of 
cruelty, there was none of murder; and the aunt and her 
husband had sought to palliate cruelty by alleging the 
exceeding stubbornness and perversity of the child, who 
was declared to be half-witted. Be that as it may, at the 
orphan's death the aunt inherited her brother's fortune. 
Before the first wedded year was out, the American quitted 
England abruptly, and never returned to it. He obtained 
a cruising vessel, which was lost in the Atlantic two years 
afterwards. The widow was left in affluence, but reverses 
of various kinds had befallen her; a bank broke; an 
investment failed; she went into a small business and 
became insolvent; then she entered into service, sinking 
lower and lower, from housekeeper down to maid-of-all- 
work, — never long retaining a place, though nothing 
decided against her character was ever alleged. She was 
considered sober, honest, and peculiarly quiet in her ways ; 
still nothing prospered with her. And so she had dropped 

into the workhouse, from whence Mr. J had taken her, 

to be placed in charge of the very house which she had 
rented as mistress in the first year of her wedded life. 

Mr. J added that he had passed an hour alone in 

the unfurnished room which I had urged him to destroy, 
and that his impressions of dread while there were so 
great, though he had neither heard nor seen anything, that 
he was eager to have the walls bared and the floors 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 171 

removed as I had suggested. He had engaged persons for 
the work, and would commence any day I would name. 

The day was accordingly fixed. I repaired to the 
haunted house, — we went into the blind, dreary room, took 
up the skirting, and then the floors. Under the rafters, 
covered with rubbish, was found a trap-door, quite large 
enough to admit a man. It was closely nailed down, with 
clamps and rivets of iron. On removing these we 
descended into a room below, the existence of which had 
never been suspected. In this room there had been a 
window and a flue, but they had been bricked over, evi- 
dently for many years. By the help of candles we exam- 
ined this place ; it still retained some mouldering furniture, 
— three chairs, an oak settle, a table, — all of the fashion 
of about eighty years ago. There was a chest of drawers 
against the wall, in which we found, half-rotted away, 
old-fashioned articles of a man's dress, such as might have 
been worn eighty or a hundred years ago by a gentleman 
of some rank; costly steel buckles and buttons, like those 
yet worn in court-dresses, a handsome court sword; in a 
waistcoat which had once been rich with gold-lace, but 
which was now blackened and foul with damp, we found 
five guineas, a few silver coins, and an ivory ticket, 
probably for some place of entertainment long since passed 
away. But our main discovery was in a kind of iron safe 
fixed to the wall, the lock of which it cost us much trouble 
to get picked. 

In this safe were three shelves and two small drawers. 
Ranged on the shelves were several small bottles of 
crystal, hermetically stopped. They contained colorless, 
volatile essences, of the nature of which I shall only say 
that they were not poisons, — phosphor and ammonia entered 
into some of them. There were also some very curious 
glass tubes, and a small pointed rod of iron, with a large 



172 THE SHORT STORY 

lump of rock-crystal, and another of amber, — also a load- 
stone of great power. 

In one of the drawers we found a miniature portrait 
set in gold, and retaining the freshness of its colors most 
remarkably, considering the length of time it had probably 
been there. The portrait was that of a man who might 
be somewhat advanced in middle life, perhaps forty-seven 
or forty-eight. It was a remarkable face, — a most 
impressive face. If you could fancy some mighty serpent 
transformed into man, preserving in the human lineaments 
the old serpent type, you would have a better idea of that 
countenance than long descriptions can convey: the width 
and flatness of frontal; the tapering elegance of contour 
disguising the strength of the deadly jaw; the long, large, 
terrible eye, glittering and green as the emerald, — and 
withal a certain ruthless calm, as if from the conscious- 
ness of an immense power. 

Mechanically I turned round the miniature to examine 
the back of it, and on the back was engraved a pentacle; 1 
in the middle of the pentacle a ladder, and the third step 
of the ladder was formed by the date 1765. Examining 
still more minutely, I detected a spring; this, on being 
pressed, opened the back of the miniature as a lid. 
Within-side the lid were engraved, "Marianna to thee. 

Be faithful in life and in death to ." Here follows 

a name that I will not mention, but it was not unfamiliar 
to me. I had heard it spoken of by old men in my child- 
hood as the name borne by a dazzling charlatan who had 
made a great sensation in London for a year or so, and 
had fled the country on the charge of a double murder 
within his own house, — that of his mistress and his rival. 

(1) pentacle: a figure composed of two interlaced triangles, 
forming a s^s-pointed star. 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 173 

I said nothing of this to Mr. J , to whom reluctantly 

I resigned the miniature. 

We had found no difficulty in opening the first drawer 
within the iron safe; we found great difficulty in opening 
the second; it was not locked, but it resisted all efforts, 
till we inserted in the chinks the edge of a chisel. When 
we had thus drawn it forth, we found a very singular 
apparatus in the nicest order. Upon a small, thin book, 
or rather tablet, was placed a saucer of crystal; this 
saucer was filled with a clear liquid, — on that liquid floated 
a kind of compass, with a needle shifting rapidly round ; 
but instead of the usual points of a compass were seven 
strange characters, not very unlike those used by astrolo- 
gers to denote the planets. A peculiar but not strong nor 
displeasing odor came from this drawer, which was lined 
with a wood that we afterwards discovered to be hazel. 
Whatever the cause of this odor, it produced a material 
effect on the nerves. We all felt it, even the two workmen 
who were in the room, — a creeping, tingling sensation from 
the tips of the fingers to the roots of the hair. Impatient 
to examine the tablet, I removed the saucer. As I did 
so the. needle of the compass went round and round with 
exceeding swiftness, and I felt a shock that ran through 
my whole frame, so that I dropped the saucer on the floor. 
The liquid was spilled; the saucer was broken; the com- 
pass rolled to the end of the room, and at that instant 
the walls shook to and fro, as if a giant had swayed 
and rocked them. 

The two workmen were so frightened that they ran 
up the ladder by which we had descended from the trap- 
door; but seeing that nothing more happened, they were 
easily induced to return. 

Meanwhile I had opened the tablet; it was bound in 
plain red leather, with a silver clasp; it contained but 



174 THE SHORT STORY 

one sheet of thick vellum, and on that sheet were inscribed, 
within a double pentacle, words in old monkish Latin, 
which are literally to be translated thus: t "On all that it 
can reach within these walls, sentient or inanimate, living 
or dead, as moves the needle, so work my will ! Accursed 
be the house, and restless be the dwellers therein." 

We found no more. Mr. J burned the tablet and 

its anathema. He razed to the foundations the part of 
the building containing the secret room with the chamber 
over it. He had then the courage to inhabit the house 
himself for a month, and a quieter, better-conditioned 
house could not be found in all London. Subsequently 
he let it to advantage, and his tenant has made no 
complaints. 

editor's note 

The story of the supernatural fascinates us by appealing 
to our half-belief in things contrary to reason and experi- 
ence, a belief which ranges from the interest aroused by a 
ghost story to the investigations of the Society for Psy- 
chical Research. 

Writers of fiction have been quick to take advantage 
of this interest in the supernatural. It has been used to 
satisfy our love of the marvellous, as in fairy tales and the 
stories of The Arabian Nights. Such stories appeal most 
to those in whom the faculty of wonder is strongest, the 
young. In stories for older readers, the supernatural is 
employed chiefly as a means of arousing terror, as in the 
present story. It would be possible, therefore, to classify 
this story — though not all supernatural stories — as a spe- 
cial form of the tale of terror. 

In days when the belief in ghosts was common, almost 
any story of the supernatural stood a good chance of 
belief. Eut now that we are grown wise, how shall a 
writer win us even to a momentary belief in what we know 
is untrue? In the present story this is accomplished first 



THE HAUNTED AND THE HAUNTERS 175 

through -the character of the chief personage in the story. 
He is presented to us as a man who has no faith whatever 
in ghosts, who is perfectly willing, even anxious, to sleep 
in a haunted house. Evidently here is a sensible fellow, 
whose story we can believe. Again, the supernatural 
events are made to seem probable by giving what appears 
to be a scientific explanation of the matter. The strange 
phenomena were due to the mysterious apparatus in the 
iron safe: when that was removed, there were no further 
manifestations. That sounds reasonable enough, does it 
not? And so our reason is beguiled until we believe — for 
the moment of reading it — a narrative full of impossible 
occurrences. 

Minor points that may be noted in the story are the 
direct opening, which arouses interest at once, and the 
somewhat old-fashioned method of designating the char- 
acters — Mr. J., my servant F., etc. Later writers find it 
better to invent a whole name. 



REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF THE SUPERNATURAL 

Wandering Willie's Tale ; in Redgauntlet, Letter XI ; 

also in The Short Story (Matthews) Walter Scott 

Thrawn Janet; in The Merry Men R. L. Stevenson 

The Bottle Imp ; in Island Nights' 

Entertainments R. L. Stevenson 

At the End of the Passage ; in Life's 

Handicap Rudyard Kipling 

They ; in Traffics and Discoveries Rudyard Kipling 

Young Goodman Brown; Rappacini's Daughter; in 

Mosses From an Old Manse Nathaniel Hawthorne 

The White Old Maid; in Twice-Told 

Tales Nathaniel Hawthorne 

Dolph Heyliger; in Bracebridge Hall. .Washington Irving 



176 THE SHORT STORY 

The Devil and Tom Walker; in Tales of a 

Traveller Washington Irving 

Legend of the Moor's Legacy; Legend of the Arabian 

Astrologer; in The Alliambra Washington Irving 

The Apparition of Mrs. Veal; in Great English Short 

Story Writers Daniel Defoe 

Peter Rug?, the Missing Man; in American Short 

c. • . William Austin | 

Stories 

The Horla; in Modem Ghosts Guy de Maupassant , 

Ligeia; The Masque of the Red Death; in Prose 

Tales . . . . Edgar Allan Poe 

The Withered Arm; in Wessex Tales Thomas Hardy 

The Shadows on the Wall; in The Wind in the 

Rosebush M. E. Wilkins-Freeman 

The Hollow Land; in Early Prose 

Romances ...William Morris : 

Aladdin, or The Wonderful Lamp; in Arabian 

Nights -" Anonymous 



HUMOROUS STORY 
MY DOUBLE, AND HOW HE UNDID ME 1 

By EDWARD EVERETT HALE 

It is not often that I trouble the readers of the Atlantic 
Monthly. 1 I should not trouble them now, but for the 
importunities of my wife, who "feels to insist" that a 
duty to society is unfulfilled till I have told why I had 
to have a double, and how he undid me. She is sure, 
she says, that intelligent persons cannot understand that 
pressure upon public servants which alone drives any man 
into the employment of a double. And while I fear she 
thinks, at the bottom of her heart, that my fortunes will 
never be remade, she has a faint hope that, as another 
Rasselas, 2 I may teach a lesson to future publics, from 
which they may profit, though we die. Owing to the 
behavior of my double, or, if you please, to that public 
pressure which compelled me to employ him, I have plenty 
of leisure to write this communication. 

I am, or rather was, a minister of the Sandemanian 3 
connection. I was settled in the active, wide-awake town 
of Naguadavick, 4 on one of the finest water-powers in 
Maine. We used to call it a western town in the heart 
of the civilization of New England. A charming place 
it was and is. A spirited, brave young parish had I; and 

(1) Published in the Atlantic Monthly in 1859. 

(2) Rasselas: the chief character in the story of that name, by 
Samuel Johnson ; it has a strong didactic purpose. 

(3) Sandemanian : the reference is to an obscure religious sect. 

(4) Naguadavick : an imaginary place. 

177 



178 THE SHORT STORY 

it seemed as if we might have all "the joy of eventful 
living" to our heart's content. 

Alas ! how little we knew on the day of my ordination, 
and in those halcyon moments of our first housekeeping ! 
To be the confidential friend in a hundred families in the 
town, — cutting the social trifle, as my friend Haliburton 
says, "from the top of the whipped-syllabub to the bottom 
of the sponge-cake, which is the foundation," — to keep 
abreast of the thought of the age in one's study, and to do 
one's best on Sunday to interweave that thought with the 
active life of an active town, and to inspirit both and make 
both infinite by glimpses of the Eternal Glory, seemed such 
an exquisite forelook into one's life! Enough to do, and 
all so real and so grand! If this vision could only have 
lasted ! 

The truth is, that this vision was not in itself a delusion, 
nor, indeed, half bright enough. If one could only have | 
been left to do his own business, the vision would have 
accomplished itself and brought out new paraheliacal 1 
visions, each as bright as the original. The misery was f 
and is, as we found out, I and Polly, before long, that, 
besides the vision, and besides the usual human and finite 
failures in life (such as breaking the old pitcher that came 
over in the Mayflower, and putting into the fire the alpen- 
stock with which her father climbed Mont Blanc), — 
besides these, I say, (imitating the style of Robinson 
Crusoe), there were pitchforked in on us a great rowen- 
heap of humbugs, handed down from some unknown seed- 
time, in which we were expected, and I chiefly, to fulfil 
certain public functions before the community, of the 
character of those fulfilled by the third row of super- 
numeraries who stand behind the Sepoys in the spectacle 
of the Cataract of the Ganges. They were the duties, in 

(1) paraheliacal: bright as the sun. 



MY DOUBLE 179 

a word, which one performs as member of one or another 
social class or subdivision, wholly distinct from what one 
does as A. by himself A. What invisible power put these 
functions on me, it would be very hard to tell. But such 
power there was and is. And I had not been at work 
a year before I found I was living two lives, one real 
and one merely functional, — for two sets of people, one 
my parish, whom I loved, and the other a vague public, 
for whom I did not care two straws. All this was in a 
vague notion, which everybody had and has, that this 
second life would eventually bring out some great results, 
unknown at present, to somebody somewhere. 

Crazed by this duality of life, I first read Dr. Wigan 
on the Duality of the Brain, hoping that I could train one 
side of my head to do these outside jobs, and the other 
to do my intimate and real duties. For Richard Greenough 1 
once told me, that, in studying for the statue of Franklin, 
he found that the left side of the great man's face was 
philosophic and reflective, and the right side funny and 
smiling. If you will go and look at the bronze statue you 
will find he has repeated this observation there for pos- 
terity. The eastern profile is the portrait of the statesman 
Franklin, the western of poor Richard. But Dr. Wigan 
does not go into these niceties of this subject, and I failed. 
It was then, that, on my wife's suggestion, I resolved 
to look out for a double. 

I was, at first, singularly successful. We happened to 
be recreating at Stafford Springs that summer. We rode 
out one day, for one of the relaxations of that watering- 
place, to the great Monson Almshouse. W 7 e were passing 
through one of the large halls, when my destiny was 
fulfilled ! I saw my man. 

He was not shaven. He had on no spectacles. He was 

(1) Richard Greenough : a famous American sculptor. 1819-1904. 



180 THE SHORT STORY 

dressed in a green baize roundabout and faded blue over- 
alls, worn sadly at the knee. But I saw at once that he 
was my height, five feet four and a half. He had black 
hair, worn off by his hat. So have and have not I. He 
stooped in walking. So do I. His hands were large, and 
mine. And — choicest gift of Fate in all — he had, not "a 
strawberry mark on his left arm," but a cut from a 
juvenile brickbat over his right eye, slightly affecting the 
play of that eyebrow. Reader, so have I ! — My fate was 
sealed ! 

A word with Mr. Holley, one of the inspectors, settled 
the whole thing. It proved that this Dennis Shea was 
a harmless, amiable fellow, of the class known as shiftless, 
who had sealed his fate by marrying a dumb wife, who 
was at that moment ironing in the laundry. Before I left 
Stafford I had hired both for five years. We had applied 
to Judge Pynchon, then the probate judge at Springfield, 
to change the name of Dennis Shea to Frederic Ingham. 
We had explained to the Judge, what was the precise 
truth, that an eccentric gentleman wished to adopt Dennis, 
under this new name, into his family. It never occurred 
to him that Dennis might be more than fourteen years 
old. And thus, to shorten this preface, when we returned 
at night to my parsonage at Naguadavick, there entered 
Mrs. Ingham, her new dumb laundress, myself, who am 
Mr. Frederic Ingham, and my double, who was Mr. 
Frederic Ingham by as good right as I. 

Oh, the fun we had the next morning in shaving his 
beard to my pattern, cutting his hair to match mine, and 
teaching him how to wear and how to take off gold-bowed 
spectacles ! Really, they were electro-plate, and the glass 
was plain (for the poor fellow's eyes were excellent). 
Then in four successive afternoons I taught him four 
speeches. I had found these would be quite enough for 



MY DOUBLE 181 

the supernumera^-Sepoy line of life, and it was well for 
me they were. For though he was good-natured, he was 
very shiftless, and it was, as our national proverb says, 
"like pulling teeth" to teach him. But at the end of the 
next week he could say, with quite my easy and frisky 
air, — 

1. "Very well, thank you. And you?" This for an 
answer to casual salutations. 

2. "I am very glad you liked it." 

3. "There has been so much said, and, on the whole, 
so well said, that I will not occupy the time." 

4. "I agree, in general, with my friend the other side 
of the room." 

At first I had a feeling that I was going to be at great 
cost for clothing him. But it proved, of course, at once, 
that, whenever he was out, I should be at home. And I 
went, during the bright period of his success, to so few of 
those awful pageants which require a black dress-coat and 
what the ungodly call, after Mr. Dickens, a white choker, 
that in the happy retreat of my own dressing-gowns and 
jackets my days went by as happily and cheaply as those 
of another Thalaba. 1 And Polly declares there was never 
a year when the tailoring cost so little. He lived (Dennis, 
not Thalaba) in his wife's room over the kitchen. He had 
orders never to show himself at that window. When he- 
appeared in the front of the house, I retired to my sanctissi- 
mum 2 and my dressing-gown. In short, the Dutchman and 
his wife 3 in the old weather-box, had not less to do with 
each other than he and I. He made the furnace-fire and 
split the wood before daylight; then he went to sleep 

(1) Thalaba: the hero of Sonthey's poem, Tlialaba the Destroyer. 
He is aided by supernatural beings. 

(2) sanctissimum : inmost retreat; literally most sacred place. 

(3) Dutchman and his wife: old-time barometers were sometimes 
made in the form of a little house. In fair weather the figure of a 
woman would appear at the door ; in stormy weather that of a man. 



182 THE SHOET STOEY 

again, and slept late; then came for orders, with a red 
silk bandanna tied round his head, with his overalls on, 
and his dress-coat and spectacles off. If we happened to 
be interrupted, no one guessed that he was Frederic 
Ingham as well as I ; and, in the neighborhood, there grew 
up an impression that the minister's Irishman worked 
daytimes in the factory village at New Coventry. After 
I had given him his orders, I never saw him till the next 
day. 

I launched him by sending him to a mee'ting of the 
Enlightenment Board. The Enlightenment Board con- 
sists of seventy-four members, of whom sixty-seven are 
necessary to form a quorum. One becomes a member 
under the regulations laid down in old Judge Dudley's 
will. I became one by being ordained pastor of a church 
in Naguadavick. You see you cannot help yourself, if you i 
would. At this particular time we had had four successive 
meetings, averaging four hours each, — wholly occupied in 
whipping in a quorum. At the first only eleven men Avere 
present; at the next, by force of three circulars, twenty- 
seven; at the third, thanks to two days' canvassing by 
Auchmuty and myself, begging men to come, we had sixty. 
Half the others were in Europe. But without a quorum 
we could do nothing. All the rest of us waited grimly 
for our four hours, and adjourned without any action. At 
the fourth meeting we had flagged, and only got fifty-nine 
together. But on the first apjDearance of my double, — 
whom I sent on this fatal Monday to the fifth meeting, — 
he was the sixty-seventh man who entered the room. He 
was greeted with a storm of applause ! The poor fellow 
had missed his way, — read the street signs ill through his 
spectacles, (very ill, in fact, without them,) — and had 
not dared to inquire. He entered the room, finding the 
president and secretary holding to their chairs two judges 



MY DOUBLE 183 

of the Supreme Court, who were also members ex officio, 
and were begging leave to go away. On his entrance all 
was changed. Presto, the by-laws were amended, and the 
Western property was given away. Nobody stopped to 
converse with him. He voted, as I had charged him to do, 
in every instance, with the minority. I won new laurels 
as a man of sense, though a little unpunctual, — and Dennis, 
alias Ingham, returned to the parsonage, astonished to see 
with how little wisdom the world is governed. He cut 
a few of my parishioners in the street; but he had his 
glasses off, and I am known to be near-sighted. Eventually 
he recognized them more readily than I. 

I "set him again" at the exhibition of the New Coventry 
Academy; and here he undertook a "speaking part," — as, 
in my boyish, worldly days, I remember the bills used to say 
of Mile. Celeste. 1 We are all trustees of the New Coven- 
try Academy; and there has lately been "a good deal of 
feeling" because the Sandemanian trustees did not regu- 
larly attend the exhibitions. It has been intimated, indeed, 
that the Sandemanians are leaning towards Free-Will, 2 and 
that we have, therefore, neglected these semi-annual exhi- 
bitions, while there is no doubt that Auchmuty last year 
went to Commencement at Waterville. Now the head master 
at New Coventry is a real good fellow, who knows a Sans- 
krit root when he sees it, and often cracks etymologies with 
me, — so that, in strictness, I ought to go to their exhibitions. 
But think, reader, of sitting through three long July days 
in that Academy chapel, following the programme from 

Tuesday Morning. English Composition. "Sunshine.'" 
Miss Jones, 
round to 

(1) Mile. Celeste: a noted French actress. 

(2) tree-Will: the doctrine that the will of man is absolutely free 
was thought to contradict the idea of an all-ruling Providence. 



184 THE SHOET STOEY 

Trio on Three Pianos. Duel from the Opera of "Mid- 
shipman Easy." Marryat. 

coming in at nine, Thursday evening! Think of this, 
reader, for men who know the world is trying to go back- 
ward, and who would give their lives if they could help it 
on! Well! The double had succeeded so well at the 
Board, that I sent him to the Academy. (Shade of Plato, 1 
pardon !) He arrived early on Tuesday, when, indeed, few 
but mothers and clerg3 r men are generally expected, and 
returned in the evening to us, covered with honors. He 
had dined at the right hand of the chairman, and he spoke 
in high terms of the repast. The chairman had expressed 
his interest in the French conversation. "I am very glad 
you liked it," said Dennis ; and the poor chairman, abashed, 
supposed the accent had been wrong. At the end of the 
day, the gentlemen present had been called upon for 
speeches, — the Rev. Frederic Ingham first, as it happened; 
upon which Dennis had risen, and had said, "There has 
been so much said, and, on the whole, so well said, that 
I will not occupy the time." The girls were delighted, 
because Dr. Dabney, the year before, had given them at 
this occasion a scolding on impropriety of behavior at 
lyceum lectures. They all declared Mr. Ingham was a 
love, — and so handsome ! (Dennis is good-looking.) Three 
of them, with arms behind the others' waists, followed him 
up to the wagon he rode home in; and a little girl with 
a blue sash had been sent to give him a rosebud. After 
this debut in speaking, he went to the exhibition for two 
days more, to the mutual satisfaction of all concerned. 
Indeed, Polly reported that he had pronounced the trustees' 
dinners of a higher grade than those of the parsonage. 
When the next term began I found six of the Academy 

(1) riato, the great Greek philosopher, taught in a grove called 
Academus, hence his school was called the Academy. 



MY DOUBLE 185 

girls had obtained permission to come across the river and 
attend our church. But this arrangement did not long 
continue. 

After this he went to several Commencements for me, 
and ate the dinners provided; he sat through three of our 
Quarterly Conventions 1 for me, always voting judiciously, 
by the simple rule mentioned above, of siding with the 
minority. And I, meanwhile, who had before been losing 
caste among my friends, as holding myself aloof from the 
associations of the body, began to rise in everybody's 
favor. "Ingham's a good fellow, always on hand;" 
"never talks much, — but does the right thing at the right 
time;" "is not as unpunctual as he used to be, — he comes 
early, and sits through to the end." "He has got over 
his old talkative habit, too. I spoke to a friend of his 
about it once ; and I think Ingham took it kindly," etc., etc. 

This voting power of Dennis was particularly valuable 
at the quarterly meetings of the proprietors of the Nagua- 
davick Ferry. My wife inherited from her father some 
shares in that enterprise, which is not yet fully developed, 
though it doubtless will become a very valuable property. 
The law of Maine then forbade stockholders to appear 
by proxy at such meetings. Polly disliked to go, not beingj 
in fact, a "hens'-rights hen," and transferred her stock to 
me. I, after going once, disliked it more than she. But 
Dennis went to the next meeting, and liked it very much. 
He said the armchairs were good, the collation good, and 
the free rides to stockholders pleasant. He was a little 
frightened when they first took him upon one of the ferry- 
boats, but after two or three quarterly meetings he became 
quite brave. 

Thus far I never had any difficulty with him. Indeed, 
being of that type which is called shiftless, he was only 

(1) Quarterly conventions: meetings of ministers. 



186 THE SHOET STOEY 

too happy to be told daily what to do, and to be charged 
not to be forthputting or in any way original in his dis- 
charge of that duty. He learned, however, to discriminate 
between the lines of his life, and very much preferred these 
stockholders' meetings and trustees' dinners and Commence- 
ment collations to another set of occasions, from which 
he used to beg off most piteously. Our excellent brother, 
Dr. Fillmore, had taken a notion at this time that our 
Sandemanian churches needed more expression of mutual 
sympathy. He insisted upon it that we were remiss. He 
said that if the bishop came to preach at Xaguadavick, 
all the Episcopal clergy of the neighborhood were present; 
if Dr. Pond came, all the Congregational clergymen turned 
out to hear him; if Dr. Nichols, all the Unitarians; and 
he thought we owed it to each other, that, whenever there 
was an occasional service at a Sandemanian church, the 
other brethren should all, if possible, attend. "It looked 
well," if nothing more. Now this really meant that I had 
not been to hear one of Dr. Fillmore's lectures on the 
Ethnology of Religion. He forgot that he did not hear 
one of my course on the "Sandemanianism of Anselm." 
But I felt badly when he said it; and afterwards I always 
made Dennis go to hear all the brethren preach, when I 
was not preaching myself. This was what he took excep- 
tions to, — the only thing, as I said, which he ever did 
except to. Now came the advantage of his long morning 
nap, and of the green tea with which Polly supplied the 
kitchen. But he would plead, so humbly, to be let off, only 
from one or two ! I never excepted him, however. I knew 
the lectures were of value, and I thought it best he should 
be able to keep the connection. 

Polly is more rash than I am, as the reader has observed 
in the outset of this memoir. She risked Dennis one night 
under the eyes of her own sex. Governor Gorges had 



MY DOUBLE 187 

always been very kind to us, and, when he gave his great 
annual party to the town, asked us. I confess I hated 
to go. I was deep in the new volume of Pfeiffer's 
"Mystics," which Haliburton had just sent me from 
Boston. "But how rude/' said Polly, "not to return the 
Governor's civility and Mrs. Gorges', when they will be 
sure to ask why you are away !" Still I demurred, and 
at last she, with the wit of Eve and of Semiramis 1 con- 
joined, let me off by saying, that, if I would go in with 
her, and sustain the initial conversations with the Governor 
and the ladies staying there, she would risk Dennis for 
the rest of the evening. And that was just what we did. 
She took Dennis in training all that afternoon, instructed 
him in fashionable conversation, cautioned him against the 
temptations of the supper-table, — and at nine in the 
evening he drove us all down in the carryall. I made the 
grand star-entree with Polly and the pretty Walton girls, 
who were staying with us. We had put Dennis into a 
great rough top-coat, without his glasses, — and the girls 
never dreamed, in the darkness, of looking at him. He sat 
in the carriage, at the door, while we entered. I did the 
agreeable to Mrs. Gorges, was introduced to her niece, 
Miss Fernanda, — I complimented Judge Jeffries on his 
decision in the great case of D'Aulnay vs. Laconia Mining 
Company, — I stepped into the dressing-room for a moment 
— stepped out for another, — walked home, after a nod with 
Dennis, and tying the horse to a pump; — and while I 
walked home, Mr. Frederic Ingham, my double, stepped 
in through the library into the Gorges' grand saloon. 

Oh ! Polly died of laughing as she told me of it at mid- 
night! And even here, where I have to teach my hands 
to hew the beech for stakes to fence our cave, she dies of 

(1) Semiramis: a mythical queen of Assyria, who was endowed 
with surpassing wisdom. 



188 THE SHOET STORY 

laughing as she recalls it, — and says that single occasion 
was worth all we have paid for it. Gallant Eve that she 
is! She joined Dennis at the library door, and in an 
instant presented him to Dr. Ochterlony from Baltimore, 
who was on a visit in town, and was talking with her, as 
Dennis came in. "Mr. Ingham would like to hear what 
you were telling us about your success among the German 
population." And Dennis bowed and said, in spite of a 
scowl from Polly, "I'm very glad you liked it." But Dr. 
Ochterlony did not observe, and plunged into the tide of 
explanation, — Dennis listening like a prime-minister, and 
bowing like a mandarin, — which is, I suppose, the same 
thing. Polly declared it was just like Haliburton's Latin 
conversation with the Hungarian minister, of which he is 
very fond of telling, "Qucene sit historia Reformationis 
in Ungarid?" quoth Haliburton, after some thought. And 
his confrere replied gallantly, "In seculo decimo tertio," 
etc., etc., etc.; and from decimo tertio 1 to the nineteenth 
century and a half lasted till the oysters came. So was 
it that before Dr. Ochterlony came to the "success," or 
near it, Governor Gorges came to Dennis and asked him 
to hand Mrs. Jeffries down to supper, a request which he 
heard with great joy. 

Polly was skipping round the room, I guess, gay as a 
lark. Auchmuty came to her "in pity for poor Ingham," 
who was so bored by the stupid pundit, 2 — and Auchmuty 
could not understand why I stood it so long. But when 
Dennis took Mrs. Jeffries down, Polly could not resist 
standing near them. He Avas a little flustered, till the sight 
of the eatables and drinkables gave him the same Mercian 

(1) Which means. "In the thirteenth century.'' my dear little bell 
and coral reader. You have rightly guessed tbat the question means 
"What is the history of the Reformation in Hungary?'' [Dr. Hale's 
note.] 

(2) pundit : a man of great learning. 



MY DOUBLE 189 

courage which it gave Diggory. 1 A little excited then, 
he attempted one or two of his speeches to the Judge's 
lady. But little he knew how hard it was to get in even 
a promptu 2 there edgewise. "Very well, I thank you/' said 
he, after the eating elements were adjusted; "and you?" 
And then did not he have to hear about the mumps, and 
the measles, and arnica, and belladonna, and camomile- 
flower, and dodecatheon, till she changed oysters for salad, 
— and then about the old practice and the new, and what 
her sister said, and what her sister's friend said, and what 
the physician to her sister's friend said, and then what was 
said by the brother of the sister of the physician of the 
friend of her sister, exactly as if it had been in Ollendorff? 3 
There was a moment's pause, as she declined champagne. 
"I am very glad you liked it," said Dennis again, which 
he never should have said, but to one who complimented 
a sermon. "Oh! you are so sharp, Mr. Ingham! No! 
I never drink any wine at all, — except sometimes in 
summer a little currant shrub, — from our own currants, you 
know. My own mother, — that is, I call her my own mother, 
because, you know, I do not remember," etc., etc., etc.; 
till they came to the candied orange at the end of the 
feast, — when Dennis, rather confused, thought he must 
say something, and tried No. 4, — "I agree, in general, 
with my friend the other side of the room," — which he 
never should have said but at a public meeting. But Mrs. 
Jeffries, who never listens expecting to understand, caught 
him up instantly with, "Well, I'm sure my husband returns 
the compliment; he always agrees with you, — though we 

(1) Diggory: a servant in Goldsmith's "She Stoops to Conquer." 
He says : "I never have con-age till I see the eatables and drink- 
ables brought upo' the table and then I'm as bau 7 d as a lion." 

(2) prompt it,: the opposite of impromptu; hence a prepared speech. 

(3) Ollendorff: the author of a famous German grammar, with 
many conversational passages. 



190 THE SHOET STORY 

do worship with the Methodists; — but you know, Mr. 
Ingham/' etc., etc., etc., till the move was made upstairs ; — 
and as Dennis led her through the hall, he was scarcely 
understood by any but Polly, as he said, "There has been 
so much said, and, on the whole, so well said, that I will 
not occupy the time." 

His great resource the rest of the evening was, standing 
in the library, carrying on animated conversations with one 
and another in much the same way. Polly had initiated 
him in the mysteries of a discovery of mine, that it is not 
necessary to finish your sentences in a crowd, but by a 
sort of mumble, omitting sibilants and dentals. This, 
indeed, if your words fail you, answers even in public 
extempore speech, — but better where other talking is going 
on. Thus, — "We missed you at the Natural History 
Society, Ingham." Ingham replies, "I am very gligloglum, 
that is, that you were mmmmm." By gradually dropping 
the voice, the interlocutor is compelled to supply the 
answer. "Mrs. Ingham, I hope your friend Augusta is 
better." Augusta has not been ill. Polly cannot think of 
explaining, however, and answers, — "Thank you, ma'am; 
she is very rearason wewahwewoh," in lower and lower 
tones. And Mrs. Throckmorton, who forgot the subject 
of which she spoke, as soon as she asked the question, is 
quite satisfied. Dennis could see into the card-room, and 
came to Polly to ask if he might not go and play all-fours. 
But, of course, she sternly refused. At midnight they came 
home delighted, — Polly, as I said, wild to tell me the story 
of the victory; only both the pretty Walton girls said, — 
"Cousin Frederic, you did not come near me all the 
evening." 

We always called him Dennis at home, for convenience, 
though his real name was Frederic Ingham, as I have 
explained. When the election day came round, however, 



MY DOUBLE 191 

I found that by some accident there was only one Frederic 
Ingham's name on the voting-list; and, as I was quite 
busy that day in writing some foreign letters to Halle, 
I thought I would forego my privilege of suffrage, and stay 
quietly at home, telling Dennis that he might use the 
record on the voting-list, and vote. I gave him a ticket, 
which I told him he might use, if he liked to. That was 
that very sharp election in Maine which the readers of 
the Atlantic so well remember, and it had been intimated 
in public that the ministers would do well not to appear 
at the polls. Of course, after that, we had to appear by 
self or proxy. Still, Naguadavick was not then a city, and 
this standing in a double queue at town-meeting several 
hours to vote was a bore of the first water; and so when 
I found that there was but one Frederic Ingham on the 
list, and that one of us must give up, I stayed at home and 
finished the letters (which, indeed, procured for Fothergill 
j his coveted appointment of Professor of Astronomy at 
'Leavenworth), and I gave Dennis, as we called him, the 
chance. Something in the matter gave a good deal of 
popularity to the Frederic Ingham name; and at the ad- 
journed election, next week, Frederic Ingham was chosen 
to the legislature. Whether this was I or Dennis, I never 
really knew. My friends seemed to think it was I; but 
I felt that as Dennis had done the popular thing, he was 
entitled to the honor; so I sent him to Augusta when the 
time came, and he took the oaths. And a very valuable 
member he made. They appointed him on the Committee 
on Parishes; but I wrote a letter for him, resigning, on 
the ground that he took an interest in our claim to the 
stumpage 1 in the minister's sixteenths of Gore 2 A, next No. 
7, in the 10th Range. He never made any speeches, and 

(1) stumpage: the proceeds from the sale of standing timber. 

(2) Gore : a triangular strip of land. 



192 THE SHORT STORY 

always voted with the minorit}^ which was what he was sent 
to do. He made me and himself a great many good friends, 
some of whom I did not afterwards recognize as quickly as 
Dennis did my parishioners. On one or two occasions, 
when there was wood to saw at home, I kept him at home; 
but I took those occasions to go to Augusta myself. Finding 
myself often in his vacant seat at these times, I watched 
the proceedings with a good deal of care; and once was 
so much excited that I delivered my somewhat celebrated| 
speech on the Central School-District question, a speech 
of which the "State of Maine" printed some extra copies. 
I believe there is no formal rule permitting strangers to: 
speak; but no one objected. 

Dennis himself, as I have said, never spoke at all. But 
our experience this session led me to think that if, by some 
such "general understanding" as the reports speak of in 
legislation daily, every member of Congress might leave 
a double to sit through those deadly sessions and answer 
to roll-calls and do the legitimate party-voting, which 
appears stereotyped in the regular list of Ashe, Bocock* 
Black, etc., we should gain decidedly in working-power. 
As things stand, the saddest State prison I ever visit is 
that Representatives' Chamber in Washington. If a man 
leaves for an hour, twenty "correspondents" may be 
howling, "Where was Mr. Prendergast when the Oregon 
bill passed ?" And if poor Prendergast stays there! 
Certainly, the worst use you can make of a man is to put 
him in prison! ■ ji 

I know, indeed, that public men of the highest rani 
have resorted to this expedient long ago. Dumas's novel 
of the Iron Mash turns on the brutal imprisonment of 
Louis the Fourteenth's double. There seems little doubt, 
in our own history, that it was the real General Pierce 
who shed tears when the delegate from Lawrence explained 



MY DOUBLE 193 

to him the sufferings of the people there, — and only General 
Pierce's double who had given the orders for the assault 
on that town, which was invaded the next day. My charm- 
ing friend, George Withers, has, I am almost sure, a double, 
who preaches his afternoon sermons for him. This is the 
reason that the theology often varies so from that of the 
forenoon. But that double is almost as charming as the 
original. Some of the most well-defined men, who stand 

| out most prominently on the background of history, are 
in this way stereoscopic men, who owe their distinct relief 
to the slight differences between the doubles. All this I 
know. My present suggestion is simply the great extension 
of the system, so that all public machine-work may be 
done by it. 

But I see I loiter on my story, which is rushing to the 
plunge. Let me stop an instant more, however, to recall, 
were it only to myself, that charming year while all was 

! vet well. After the double had become a matter of course, 

i for nearly twelve months before he undid me, what a year 
it was ! Full of active life, full of happy love, of the 
hardest work, of the sweetest sleep, and the fulfilment 
of so many of the fresh aspirations and dreams of boyhood ! 
Dennis went to every school-committee meeting, and sat 
through all those late wranglings which used to keep me 
up till midnight and awake till morning. He attended 
all the lectures to which foreign exiles sent me tickets beg- 
ging me to come for the love of Heaven and* of Bohemia. 
He accepted and used all the tickets for charity concerts 
which were sent to me. He appeared everywhere it was 
specially desirable "our denomination," or "our party," 
or "our class," or "our family," or "our street," or "our 

i town," or "our country," or "our State," should be fully 
represented. And I fell back to that charming life which 

ij in boyhood one dreams of, when he supposes he shall do 



194 THE SHOKT STOEY 

his own duty and make his own sacrifices, without being 
tied up with those of other people. My rusty Sanskrit, 
Arabic, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, French, Italian, Spanish, 
German, and English began to take polish. Heavens ! how 
little I had done with them while I attended to my public, 
duties ! My calls on my parishioners became the friendly, 
frequent, homelike sociabilities they were meant to be, 
instead of the hard work of a man goaded to desperation 
by the sight of his lists of arrears. And preaching! what 
a luxury preaching was when I had on Sunday the whole 
result of an individual, personal week, from which to speak 
to a people whom all that week I had been meeting as 
hand-to-hand friend. I never tired on Sunday, and was 
in condition to leave the sermon at home, if I chose, and 
preach it extempore, as all men should do always. Indeed, 
I wonder, when I think that a sensible people, like ours, — 
really more attached to their clergy than they were in the? 
lost days, when the Mathers and Nortons 1 were noblemen, 
— should choose to neutralize so much of their ministers'; 
lives, and destroy so much of their early training, by this! 
undefined passion for seeing them in public. It springs 
from our balancing of sects. If a spirited Episcopalian 
takes an interest in the almshouse, and is put on the Poor 
Board, every other denomination must have a minister- 
there, lest the poorhouse be changed into St. Paul's 
Cathedral. If a Sandemanian is chosen president of thel 
Young Men's Library, there must be a Methodist vice-! 
president and a Baptist secretary. And if a Universalist 
Sunday-School Convention collects five hundred delegates, 
the next Congregationalist Sabbath-School Conference 
must be as large, "lest 'they' — whoever they may be — 
should think 'we' — whoever xve may be — are going down." 

(1) Mathers and Nortons: noted names in New England religious 
history. Cotton Mather (1663-1728) wrote a history of the church in 
America; Andrews Norton (1786-1853) was a professor at Harvard. 



MY DOUBLE 195 

Freed from these necessities, that happy year I began to 
know my wife by sight. We saw each other sometimes. 
In those long mornings, when Dennis was in the study 
explaining to map-peddlers that I had eleven maps of 
Jerusalem already, and to school-book agents that I would 
see them hanged before I would be bribed to introduce 
their text-books into the schools, — she and I were at work 
together, as in those old dreaming days, — and in these 
of our log-cabin again. But all this could not last, — and 
at length poor Dennis, my double, overtasked in turn, 
undid me. 

It was thus it happened. — There is an excellent fellow, 
— once a minister, — I will call him Isaacs, — who deserves 
well of the world till he dies, and after, — because he once, 
in a real exigency, did the right thing, in the right way, at 
the right time, as no other man could do it. In the world's 
great football match, the ball by chance found him loitering 
on the outside of the field; he closed with it, "camped" it, 
charged it home, — yes, right through the other side, — not 
disturbed, not frightened by his own success, — and, breath- 
less, found himself a great man, — as the Great Delta 1 rang 
applause. But he did not find himself a rich man ; and the 
football has never come in his way again. From that 
moment to this moment he has been of no use, that one can 
see at all. Still, for that great act we speak of Isaacs 
gratefully and remember him kindly; and he forges on, 
hoping to meet the football somewhere again. In that 
vague hope, he had arranged a "movement" for a general 
organization of the human family into Debating Clubs, 
County Societies, State Unions, etc., etc., with a view of 
inducing all children to take hold of the handles of their 
knives and forks, instead of the metal. Children have bad 

1 1 ) Delta : the field where Harvard football matches were formerly- 
held was called the Delta. 



196 THE SHORT STORY 

habits in that way. The movement, of course, was absurd ; 
but we all did our best to forward, not it, but him. It 
came time for the annual county-meeting on this subject 
to be held at Naguadavick. Isaacs came round, good 
fellow! to arrange for it, — got the town-hall, got the 
Governor to preside, (the saint! — he ought to have triplet 
doubles provided him hy law,) and then came to get me to 
speak. "No," I said, "I would not speak, if ten Governors 
presided. I do not believe in the enterprise. If I spoke, f 
it should be to say children should take hold of the prongs 
of the forks and the blades of the knives. I would sub- 
scribe ten dollars, but I would not speak a mill." So poor 
Isaacs went his way, sadly, to coax Auchmuty to speak, 
and Delafield. I went out. Not long after, he came back, 
and told Polly that they had promised to speak, — the 
Governor would speak, — and he himself would close with 
the quarterly report, and some interesting anecdotes 
regarding Miss Biffin's way of handling her knife and 
Mr. Nellis's way of footing his fork. "Now, if Mr. Ingham li| 
will only come and sit on the platform, he need not say 
one word ; but it will show well in the paper, — it will show 
that the Sandemanians take as much interest in the move- 
ment as the Armenians or the Mesopotamians, and will i] 
be a great favor to me." Polly, good soul! was tempted, 
and she promised. She knew Mrs. Isaacs was starving, 
and the babies, — she knew Dennis was at home, — and she! 
promised ! Night came, and I returned. I heard her story. ! 
I was sorry. I doubted. But Polly had promised to beg 1 
me, and I dared all! I told Dennis to hold his peace, 
under all circumstances, and sent him down. 

It was not half an hour more before he returned, wild 
with excitement, — in a perfect Irish fury, — which it was 
long before I understood. But I knew at once that lie 
had undone me! 



MY DOUBLE 197 

What happened was this. The audience got together, 
attracted by Governor Gorges' name. There were a 
thousand people. Poor Gorges was late from Augusta. 
They became impatient. He came in direct from the train 
at last, really ignorant of the object of the meeting. He 
opened it in the fewest possible words, and said other 
gentlemen were present who would entertain them better 
than he. The audience were disappointed, but waited. 
The Governor, prompted by Isaacs, said, "The Honorable 
Mr. Delafield will address you." Delafield had forgotten 
the knives and forks, and was playing the Ruy Lopez 
opening at the chess-club. "The Rev. Mr. Auchmuty will 
address you." Auchmuty had promised to speak late, and 
was at the school-committee. "I see Dr. Stearns in the 
hall; perhaps he will say a word." Dr. Stearns said 
he had come to listen and not to speak. The Governor and 
Isaacs whispered. The Governor looked at Dennis, who 
was resplendent on the platform; but Isaacs, to give him 
his due, shook his head. But the look was enough. A 
miserable lad, ill-bred, who had once been in Boston, 
thought it would sound well to call for me, and peeped 
out, "Ingham!" A few more wretches cried, "Ingham! 
Ingham!" Still Isaacs was firm; but the Governor, 
anxious, indeed, to prevent a row, knew I would say 
something, and said, "Our friend Mr. Ingham is always 
prepared, — and though we had not relied upon him, he 
will say a word, perhaps." Applause followed, which 
turned Dennis's head. He rose, fluttered, and tried No. 3 : 
"There has been so much said, and, on the whole, so well 
said, that I will not longer occupy the time !" and sat 
down, looking for his hat; for things seemed squally. But 
the people cried, "Go on! go on!" and some applauded. 
Dennis, still confused, but flattered by the applause, to 
which neither he nor I are used, rose again, and this time 



198 THE SHORT STORY 

tried No. 2 : "I am very glad you liked it !" in a sonorous, 
clear delivery. My best friends stared. All the people 
who did not know me personally yelled with delight at 
the aspect of the evening; the Governor was beside him- 
self, and poor Isaacs thought he was undone! Alas, it j 
was I ! A boy in the gallery cried in a loud tone, "It's 
all an infernal humbug," just as Dermis, waving his hand, 
commanded silence, and tried No. 4: "I agree, in general, 
with my friend the other side of the room." The poor 
Governor doubted his senses, and crossed to stop him, — 
not in time, however. The same gallery-boy shouted, 
"How's your mother?" — and Dennis, now completely lost, 
tried, as his last shot, No. 1 vainly: "Very well, thank 
you; and you?" 

I think I must have been undone already. But Dennis, 
like another Lockhard, chose "to make sicker." 1 The audi- 
ence rose in a whirl of amazement, rage, and sorrow. 
Some other impertinence, aimed at Dennis, broke all 
restraint, and, in pure Irish, he delivered himself of an 
address to the gallery, inviting any person who wished to 
fight to come down and do so, — stating, that they were 
all dogs and cowards and the sons of dogs and cowards, — 
that he would take any five of them single-handed. 
"Shure, I have said all his Riverence and the Mishtress 
bade me say," cried he, in defiance; and, seizing the 
Governor's cane from his hand, brandished it, quarter- 
staff fashion, above his head. He was, indeed, got from 
the hall only with the greatest difficulty by the Governor, 
the City Marshal, who had been called in, and the Superin- 
tendent of my Sunday-School. 

The universal impression, of course, was, that the Rev. 
Frederic Ingham had lost all command of himself in some 

(1) sicker: sure. The saying is attributed to Lockhard, a follower 
of Robert Bruce. 



MY DOUBLE 199 

of those haunts of intoxication which for fifteen years I 
have been laboring to destroy. Till this moment, indeed, 
that is the impression in Naguadavick. This number of 
the Atlantic will relieve from it a hundred friends of mine 
who have been sadly wounded by that notion now for 
years; — but I shall not be likely ever to show my head 
there again. 

No ! My double has undone me. 

We left town at seven the next morning. I came to 
No. 9 in the Third Range, and settled on the Minister's 
Lot. In the new towns in Maine, the first settled minister 
has a gift of a hundred acres of land. I am the first 
settled minister in No. 9. My wife and little Paulina 
are my parish. We raise corn enough to live on in sum- 
mer. We kill bear's meat enough to carbonize it in winter. 
I work on steadily on my "Traces of Sandemanianism in 
the Sixth and Seventh Centuries," which I hope to per- 
suade some publisher to publish next year. We are very 
happy, but the world thinks we are undone. 

editor's note 

The humorous story is one of the oldest and most familiar 
forms of narrative. Its simplest form is the "good story" 
repeated from mouth to mouth; its range extends from 
this to the drollery of Lamb's "Dissertation on the Origin 
of Roast Pig" or the finished art of T. B. Aldrich's 
"Goliath." Such stories in general are of two types : those 
in which the humor is chiefly in the dialogue and char- 
acterization, and those in which it arises from the situa- 
tion. The present story is clearly one of situation. The 
author has conceived the idea of a man's engaging a double 
to represent him in public, and has skillfully contrived a 
set of circumstances to work out the idea in a fairly 
plausible manner. 

In structure, this is reallv more of a tale than a short 



200 THE SHOKT STORY 

story. It is leisurely in its movement and there are occa- 
sional digression^ as where he speaks of certain noted men 
who have had doubles. There is also a suggestion of a 
serious purpose: to show the unreasonable demands the 
public makes upon a minister's time. These detract from 
the unity of impression which marks the true short story. 
The setting shows a skillful use of local color. The place 
— Naguadavick — is of course imaginary, but the atmos- 
phere of a New England town is faithfully given. Dr. 
Hale's early pastorate was in Worcester, Mass., and the 
story was doubtless suggested by his experiences there. 

REPRESENTATIVE HUMOROUS STORIES 

Goliath ; in Two Bites at a Cherry T. B. Aldrich 

The Jumping Frog; in The Man that Corrupted 

Hadleyburg S. L. Clemens 

The Stolen White Elephant; in Tom Sawyer 

Abroad i S. L. Clemens 

Preparing to Receive Company ; in A Windoxv in 

Thrums James M. Barrie 

A Black Affair ; A Change of Treatment ; in Many 

Cargoes . W. W. Jacobs 

A Story of Seven Devils; in Amos Kilbright; also in 

Dawson's Great English Short Story 

Writers Frank R. Stockton 

A Dissertation Upon Roast Pig; in Essays of 

Elia Charles Lamb 

Fame's Little Day ; in The Life of 

Nancy Sarah Orne Jewett 

The Tenor ; The Love Letters of Smith ; in Short 

Sixes » H. C. Bunner 

Heman's Ma; in Meadow Grass. Alice Brown 

The Wiles of the Wooer; in Wards of Liberty .Myra Kelly 



MY DOUBLE 201 

The Mothers of Edward ; in The Golden 

Season Myra Kelly 

Games in Gardens; in Little Aliens Myra Kelly 

The Third Ingredient ; in Options O. Henry 

The Handbook of Hymen ; in Heart of the West . O. Henry 
The City of Dreadful Night; in The Voice of the 

City o O. Henry 

Steam Tactics ; in Traffics and 

Discoveries Rudyard Kipling 

How Gavin Birse Put it to Mag Lownie; in 

A Window in Thrums James M. Barrie 

The Courting of T'nowhead's Bell; in 

Auld Licht Idylls James M. Barrie 

The Pope's Mule; in Letters from My Mill; also in 

Little French Masterpieces Alphonse Daudet 

Two Pairs of Shoes ; in The Old Home 

House Joseph C. Lincoln 

The Passing of Priscilla Winthrop; in In Our 

Town William Allen White 

Trial Sermons on Bull Skin; in Tales from 

Dixie Paul L. Dunbar 

The Trouble at St. James's; in Alabama 

Sketches Samuel Minturn Peck 

Evening Dress; in Friendship Village Love 

Stories Zona Gale 

Daughters of Zion; in New Chronicles of 

Rebecca Kate Douglas Wiggin 

Old Jabe's Marital Experiences; in Bred in the 

Bone Thomas Nelson Page 



CHARACTER SKETCH 
CREE QUEERY AND MYSY DROLLY 1 

By JAMES M. BARRIE 

The children used to fling stones at Grinder Queery 
because he loved his mother. I never heard the Grinder's 
real name. He and his mother were Queery and D roily , 
contemptuously so called, and they answered to these 
names. I remember Cree best as a battered old weaver, 
who bent forward as he walked, with his arms hanging 
limp as if ready to grasp the shafts of the barrow behind 
which it was his life to totter up hill and down hill, a 
rope of yarn suspended round his shaking neck and fast- 
ened to the shafts, assisting him to bear the yoke and 
slowly strangling him. By and by there came a time 
when the barrow and the weaver seemed both palsy- 
stricken, and Cree, gasping for breath, would stop in the 
middle of a brae, 2 unable to push his load over a stone. 
Then he laid himself down behind it to prevent the bar- 
row's slipping back. On those occasions only the bare- 
footed boys who jeered at the panting weaver could put 
new strength into his shrivelled arms. They did it by 
telling him that he and Mysy would have to go to the 
"poorshouse" after all, at which the gray old man would 
wince, as if "joukin" from a blow, and, shuddering, rise 
and, with a desperate effort, gain the top of the incline. 
Small blame perhaps attached to Cree if, as he neared his 

(1) From Auld Licht Idylls, published 1888. 

(2) brae: a hill. 

202 



CEEE QUEEEY AND MYSY DEOLLY 203 

grave, he grew a little dottle. 1 His loads of yarn fre- 
quently took him past the workhouse, and his eyelids quiv- 
ered as he drew near. Boys used to gather round the 
gate in anticipation of his coming, and make a feint of 
driving him inside. Cree, when he observed them, sat 
down on his barrow-shafts terrified to approach, and I see 
them now pointing to the workhouse till he left his barrow 
on the road and hobbled away, his legs cracking as he 
ran. 

It is strange to know that there was once a time when 
Cree was young and straight, a callant 2 who wore a flower 
in his button-hole and tried to be a hero for a maiden's 
sake. 

Before Cree settled down as a weaver, he was knife and 
scissor grinder for three counties, and Mysy, his mother, 
accompanied him wherever he went. Mysy trudged along- 
side him till her eyes grew dim and her limbs failed her, 
and then Cree was told that she must be sent to the 
pauper's home. After that a pitiable and beautiful sight 
was to be seen. Grinder Queery, already a feeble man, 
would wheel his grindstone along the long high-road, leav- 
ing Mysy behind. He took the stone on a few hundred 
yards, and then, hiding it by the roadside in a ditch or 
behind a paling, returned for his mother. Her he led — - 
sometimes he almost carried her — to the place where the 
grindstone lay, and thus by double journeys kept her with 
him. Every one said that Mysy's death would be a merci- 
ful release — every one but Cree. 

Cree had been a grinder from his youth, having learned 
the trade from his father, but he gave it up when Mysy 
became almost blind. For a time he had to leave her in 
Thrums with Dan'l Wilkie's wife, and find employment 

(i) dottle : crazy. 

(2) callant : a fine young fellow. 



204 THE SHOET STOKY 

himself in Tilliedrum. Mysy got me to write several let- 
ters for her to Cree, and she cried while telling me what 
to say. I never heard either of them use a term of endear- 
ment to the other, but all Mysy could tell me to put in 
writing was: "Oh, my son Cree; oh, my beloved son; oh, 
I have no one but you; oh, thou God watch over my Cree!" 
On one of these occasions Mysy put into my hands a paper, 
which she said would perhaps help me to write the letter. 
It had been drawn up by Cree many years before, when 
he and his mother had been compelled to part for a time, 
and I saw from it that he had been trying to teach Mysy 
to write. The paper consisted of phrases such as "Dear 
son Cree," "Loving mother," "I am takin' my food weel," 
"Yesterday," "Blankets," "The peats is near done," "Mr. 
Dishart," "Come home, Cree." ' The grinder had left this 
paper with his mother, and she had written letters to 
him from it. 

When Dan'l Wilkie objected to keeping a cranky old 
body like Mysy in his house, Cree came back to Thrums 
and took a single room with a hand-loom in it. The floor- 
ing was only lumpy earth, with sacks spread over it to 
protect Mysy's feet. The room contained two dilapidated 
old coffin-beds, a dresser, a high-backed arm-chair, several 
three-legged stools, and two tables, of which one could be 
packed away beneath the other. In one corner stood the 
wheel at which Cree had to fill his own pirns. 1 There was 
a plate-rack on one wall, and near the chimney-piece hung 
the wag-at-the-wall clock, the time-piece that was com- 
monest in Thrums at that time, and that got this name 
because its exposed pendulum swung along the wall. The 
two windows in the room faced each other on opposite 
walls, and were so small that even a child might have stuck 
in trying to crawl through them. The}'' opened on hinges, 

(1) pirn: the bobbin of a spinning-wheel. 



CREE QUEERY AND MYST DROLLY 205 

like a door. In the wall of the dark passage leading from 
the outer door into the room was a recess where a pan 
and pitcher of water always stood wedded, as it were, and 
a little hole, known as the "bole/' in the wall opposite the 
fire-place contained Cree's library. It consisted of Bax- 
ter's "Saints' Rest," Harvey's "Meditations," the "Pil- 
grim's Progress," a work on folk-lore, and several Bibles. 
The saut-backet, or salt-bucket, stood at the end of the 
fender, which was half of an old cart-wheel. Here Cree 
worked, whistling "Ower the watter for Charlie," to make 
Mvsy think that he was as gay as a mavis. 1 Mysy grew 
querulous in her old age, and up to the end she thought 
of poor, done Cree as a handsome gallant. Only by weav- 
ing far on into the night could Cree earn as much as six 
shillings a week. He began at six o'clock in the morning, 
and worked until midnight by the light of his cruizey. The 
cruizey was all the lamp Thrums had in those days, 
though it is only to be seen in use now in a few old- 
world houses in the glens. It is an ungainly thing in 
iron, the size of a man's palm, and shaped not unlike the 
palm when contracted and deepened to hold a liquid. 
Whale-oil, lying open in the mould, was used, and the 
wick was a rash with the green skin peeled off. These 
rashes were sold by herd-boys at a halfpenny the bundle, 
but Cree gathered his own wicks. The rashes skin readily 
when you know how to do it. The iron mould was placed 
inside another of the same shape, but slightly larger, for 
in time the oil dripped through the iron, and the whole 
was then hung by a cleek or hook close to the person 
using it. Even with three wicks it gave but a stime 2 of 
light, and never allowed the weaver to see more than the 
half of his loom at a time. Sometimes Cree used threads 

(1 ) mavis : a thrush. 

(2) stime: glimmer. 



206 THE SHOET STOEY 

for wicks. He was too dull a man to have many visitors, 
but Mr. Dishart called occasionally and reproved him for 
telling his mother lies. The lies Cree told Mysy were 
that he was sharing the meals he won for her, and that 
he wore the overcoat which he had exchanged years be- 
fore for a blanket to keep her warm. 

There was a terrible want of spirit about Grinder 
Queery. Boys used to climb on to his stone roof with clods 
of damp earth in their hands, which they dropped down 
the chimney. Mysy was bedridden by this time, and the 
smoke threatened to choke her; so Cree, instead of chasing 
his persecutors, bargained with them. He gave them fly- 
hooks which he had busked 1 himself, and when he had 
nothing left to give he tried to flatter them into dealing 
gently with Mysy by talking to them as men. One night 
it went through the town that Mysy now lay in bed all 
day listening for her summons to depart. According to 
her ideas this would come in the form of a tapping at the 
window, and their intention was to forestall the spirit. 
Dite Gow's boy, who is now a grown man, was hoisted up 
to one of the little windows, and he has always thought of 
Mysy since as he saw her then for the last time. She lay 
sleeping, so far as he could see, and Cree sat by the fire- 
side looking at her. 

Every one knew that there was seldom a fire in that 
house unless Mysy was cold. Cree seemed to think that 
the fire was getting low. In the little closet, which, with 
the kitchen, made up his house, was a corner shut off 
from the rest of the room by a few boards, and behind this 
he kept his peats. 2 There was a similar receptacle for 
potatoes in the kitchen. Cree wanted to get another peat 

(1) busked: prepared. 

(2) peat: partly decayed turf, used for fuel. 



CREE QUEERY AND MYSY DROLLY 207 

for the fire without disturbing Mysy. First he took off 
his boots, and made for the peats on tip-toe. His shadow 
was cast on the bed, however, so he next got down on his 
knees and crawled softly into the closet. With the peat in 
his hands he returned in the same way, glancing every 
moment at the bed where Mysy lay. Though Tammy 
Gow's face was pressed against a broken window, he did 
not hear Cree putting that peat on the fire. Some say that 
Mysy heard, but pretended not to do so for her son's sake ; 
that she realized the deception he played on her and had 
not the heart to undeceive him. But it would be too sad 
to believe that. The boys left Cree alone that night. 

The old weaver lived on alone in that solitary house 
after Mysy left him, and by and by the story went abroad 
that he was saving money. At first no one believed this 
except the man who told it, but there seemed after all to 
to be something in it. You had only to hit Cree's trouser 
pocket to hear the money chinking, for he was afraid to 
let it out of his clutch. Those who sat on dykes 1 with him 
when his day's labor was over said that the weaver kept 
his hand all the time in his pocket, and that they saw his 
lips move as he counted his hoard by letting it slip through 
his fingers. So there were boys who called "Miser Queery" 
after him instead of Grinder, and asked him whether he 
was saving up to keep himself from the workhouse. 

But we had all done Cree wrong. It came out on his 
death-bed what he had been storing up his money for. 
Grinder, according to the doctor, died of getting a good 
meal from a friend of his earlier days after being accus- 
tomed to starve on potatoes and a very little oatmeal indeed. 
The day before he died this friend sent him half a 
sovereign, and when Grinder saw it he sat up excitedly in 

(1) dykes: embankments. 



208 THE SHORT STORY 

his bed and pulled his corduroys from beneath his pillow. 
The woman who, out of kindness, attended him in his last 
illness, looked on curiously while Cree added the sixpences 
and coppers in his pocket to the half-sovereign. After all 
they only made some two pounds, but a look of peace came 
into Cree's eyes as he told the woman to take it all to a 
shop in the town. Nearly twelve years previously Jamie: 
Lownie had lent him two pounds, and though the money 
was never asked for, it preyed on Cree's mind that he was 
in debt. He paid off all he owed, and so Cree's life was ' 
not, I think, a failure. 

editor's note 

The three elements which make up a story are plot, 
setting, and characters. If an author emphasizes plot, he 
may produce a story of adventure or ingenuity. If he ; 
emphasizes setting, he produces a story of local color. If 
he emphasizes character, with but slight regard to incident 
as a source of interest, he produces a character sketch. 
In one of F. Hopkinson Smith's stories he relates several 
particulars about a man, and finally says: "There is noi 
story — only Jonathan." The remark brings out clearly 
the nature of the character sketch. It is well exemplified 
in Barrie's "Cree Queery and Mysy Drolly." Plot, in the 
sense of a series of connected incidents, it has none. The 
setting — a bare cottage in a village of poor weavers — serves 
only to bring out the self-denial, the patience under tribula- 
tion, the fine sense of honesty, that make poor Cree a 
figure at once pathetic and noble. 

The story is strongly tinged with local color. The fre- 
quent Scotch words, and the detailed description of the 
weaver's cottage, with its primitive lamp, are examples. 

As the following lists show, the character sketch is a 
recent development of the short story. It is interesting 



CEEE QUEEEY AND MYSY DROLLY 209 

to note that one of the early examples — Bret Harte's "Ten- 
nessee's Partner" — has for its theme the same devotion to 
another that dignifies Barrie's character 

REPRESENTATIVE CHARACTER SKETCHES 

Tennessee's Partner; in The Luck of Roaring 

Camp Bret Harte 

A Village Singer ; A Poetess ; in A New England 

Nun M. E. Wilkins-Freeman 

Two Gentlemen of Kentucky; King Solomon of 

Kentucky ; in Flute and Violin James Lane Allen 

A Lodging for the Night; in New Arabian 

Nights; also in Great English Short Story 

Writers R. L. Stevenson 

The Captive; in Traffics and Discoveries . Rudyard Kipling 
With the Main Guard; in Soldiers Three. Rudyard Kipling 

Quite So; in Stories New and Old T. B. Aldrich 

The Marquis Jeanne Hyacinth St. Palaye; in 

A Teacher of the Violin. . . J. H. Shorthouse 

Told in the Poor House; in Meadow Grass. . .Alice Brown 
'Sieur George; in Old Creole Days. G. W. Cable- 
Miss Tempy's Watchers; in Tales of 

New England Sarah Orne Jewett 

The Pelican; in The Greater Inclination . . .Edith Wharton 
; The Debt; The Daunt Diana; in Tales of Men and 

Ghosts Edith Wharton 

The Conscience of a Business Man ; in The Heart of 

Toil Octave Thanet [Alice French] 

The Besetment of Kurt Lieders ; in Stories of a 

Western Town Alice French 

A Humorist on his Calling; in A Window in 

Thrums James M. Barrie 

A Conversion; in Tales of Mean Streets. .Arthur Morrison 



210 THE SHORT STORY 

The Captain's Vices; My Friend Meurtrier; in Ten 

Tales Francois Coppee 

The Insurgent; in The Short Story (Matthews) .L. Halevy 

Col. Brereton's Aunty; in Short Sixes H. C. Bunner 

A Yankee Quixote ; in Pratt Portraits Anna Fuller 

A Retrieved Reformation; in Roads of Destiny . .0. Henry 

The Taxidermist; in Strong Hearts G. W. Cable 

Mam' Lyddy's Recognition; in Bred in the 

Bone Thomas Nelson Page 



- 



ANIMAL STORY 
MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 1 

By RUDYARD KIPLING 

Once upon a time there was a coffee-planter in India 
who wished to clear some forest land for coffee-planting. 
When he had cut down all the trees and burned the 
underwood, the stumps still remained. Dynamite is 
expensive and slow fire slow. The happy medium for 
stump-clearing is the lord of all beasts, who is the elephant. 
He will either push the stump out of the ground with his 
tusks, if he has any, or drag it out with ropes. The 
planter, therefore, hired elephants by ones and twos and 
threes, and fell to work. The very best of all the elephants 
belonged to the very worst of all the drivers or mahouts; 
and this superior beast's name was Moti Guj. He was the 
absolute property of his mahout, 2 which would never have 
been the case under native rule: for Moti Guj was a 
creature to be desired by kings, and his name, being 
translated, meant the Pearl Elephant. Because the 
British government was in the land, Deesa, the mahout, 
enjoyed his property undisturbed. He was dissipated. 
When he had made much money through the strength of 
his elephant, he would get extremely drunk and give Moti 
Guj a beating with a tent-peg over the tender nails of 
the forefeet. Moti Guj never trampled the life out of 
Deesa on these occasions, for he knew that after the beating 

(1) From Plain Tales from the Hills, published 1890. 

(2) mahout : driver, 

211 



212 THE SHOET STORY 

was over, Deesa would embrace his trunk and weep and 
call him his love and his life and the liver of his soul, and i 
give him some liquor. Moti Guj was very fond of liquor — J 
arrack for choice, though he would drink palm-tree toddy 
if nothing better offered. Then Deesa would go to sleep p 
between Moti Guj's forefeet, and as Deesa generally chose 
the middle of the public road, and as Moti Guj mounted s 
guard over him, and would not permit horse, foot, or cart If 
to pass by, traffic was congested till Deesa saw fit to U 
wake up. 

There was no sleeping in the day-time on the planter's 
clearing: the wages were too high to risk. Deesa sat 
on Moti Guj's neck and gave him orders, while Moti Guj 
rooted up the stumps — for he owned a magnificent pair 
of tusks; or pulled at the end of a rope — for he had 
a magnificent pair of shoulders — while Deesa kicked him 
behind the ears and said he was the king of elephants. 
At evening time Moti Guj would wash down his three 
hundred pounds' weight of green food with a quart of 
arrack, and Deesa would take a share, and sing songs I 
between Moti Guj 's legs till it was time to go to bed. 
Once a week Deesa led Moti Guj down to the river," and 
Moti Guj lay on his side luxuriously in the shallows, while 
Deesa went over him with a coir-swab and a brick. Moti 
Guj never mistook the pounding blow of the latter for the 1 
smack of the former that warned him to get up and turn' 
over on the other side. Then Deesa would look at his : 
feet and examine his eyes, and turn up the fringes of his 
mighty ears in case of sores or budding ophthalmia. After 
inspection the two would "come up with a song from the 
sea," Moti Guj, all black and shining, waving a torn tree 
branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and Deesa knotting 
up his own long wet hair. 

It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa felt the 



MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 213 

return of the desire to drink deep. He wished for an 
orgy. The little draughts that led nowhere were taking 
the manhood out of him. 

He went to the planter, and "My mother's dead/' said 
he, weeping. 

"She died on the last plantation two months ago, and 
she died once before that when you were working for me 
last year/' said the planter, who knew something of the 
ways of nativedom. 

"Then it's my aunt, and she was just the same as a 
mother to me," said Deesa, weeping more than ever. "She 
has left eighteen small children entirely without bread, 
and it is I who must fill their little stomachs," said Deesa, 
beating his head on the floor. 

"Who brought you the news?" said the planter. 

"The post," said Deesa. 

"There hasn't been a post here for the past week. Get 
back to your lines !" 

"A devastating sickness has fallen on my village, and 
all my wives are dying," yelled Deesa, really in tears 
this time. 

"Call Chihun, who comes from Deesa's village," said 
the planter. "Chihun, has this man got a wife?" 

"He?" said Chihun. "No. Not a woman of our village 
would look at him. They'd sooner marry the elephant." 

Chihun snorted. Deesa wept and bellowed. 

"You will get into a difficulty in a minute," said the 
planter. "Go back to your work!" 

"Now I will speak Heaven's truth," gulped Deesa, with 
an inspiration. "I haven't been drunk for two months, 
I desire to depart in order to get properly drunk afar 
off and distant from this heavenly plantation. Thus I 
shall cause no trouble." 

A flickering smile crossed the planter's face. "Deesa/ 



214 THE SHOET STORY 

said he, "you've spoken the truth, and I'd give you leave 
on the spot if anj'thing could be done with Moti Guj while 
you're away. You know that he will only obey your 
orders." 

"May the light of the heavens live forty thousand years. 
I shall be absent but ten little days. After that, upon my 
faith and honor and soul, I return. As to the incon- 
siderable interval, have I the gracious permission of the 
heaven-born to call up Moti Guj ?" 

Permission was granted, and in answer to Deesa's shrill 
yell, the mighty tusker swung out of the shade of a clump 
of trees where he had been squirting dust over himself till 
his master should return. 

"Light of my heart, protector of the drunken, mountain 
of might, give ear !" said Deesa, standing in front of him. 

Moti Guj gave ear,, and saluted with his trunk. "I am 
going away," said Deesa. 

Moti Guj's eyes twinkled. He liked jaunts as well 
as his master. One could snatch all manner of nice things 
from the road-side then. 

"But you, you fussy old pig, must stay behind and 
work." 

The twinkle died out as Moti Guj tried to look delighted. 
He hated stump-hauling on the plantation. It hurt his 
teeth. 

"I shall be gone for ten days, oh, delectable one ! Hold 
up your near forefoot and I'll impress the fact upon it, 
warty toad of a dried mud-puddle." Deesa took a tent-peg 
and banged Moti Guj ten times on the nails. Moti Guj 
grunted and shuffled from foot to foot. 

"Ten days," said Deesa, "you will work and haul and 
root the trees as Chihun here shall order you. Take up 
Chihun and set him on your neck!" Moti Guj curled 
the tip of his trunk, Chihun put his foot there, and was 



MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 215 

swung on to the neck. Deesa handed Chihun the heavy 
ankus — the iron elephant goad. 

Chihun thumped Moti Guj's bald head as a paver thumps 
a curbstone. 

Moti Guj trumpeted. 

"Be still, hog of the backwoods ! Chihun's your mahout 
for ten days. And now bid me good-by, beast after mine 
own heart. Oh, my lord, my king! Jewel of all created 
elephants, lily of the herd, preserve your honored health; 
be virtuous. Adieu!" 

Moti Guj lapped his trunk round Deesa and swung him 
into the air twice. That was his way of bidding him 
good-by. 

"He'll work now," said Deesa to the planter. "Have 
I leave to go?" 

The planter nodded, and Deesa dived into the woods. 
Moti Guj went back to haul stumps. 

Chihun was very kind to him, but he felt unhappy and 
forlorn for all that. Chihun gave him a ball of spices, 
and tickled him under the chin, and Chihun's little baby 
cooed to him after work was over, and Chihun's wife called 
him a darling; but Moti Guj was a bachelor by instinct, 
as Deesa was. He did not understand the domestic 
emotions. He wanted the light of his universe back again 
— the drink and the drunken slumber, the savage beatings 
and the savage caresses. 

None the less he worked well, and the planter wondered, 
Deesa had wandered along the roads till he met a marriage 
procession of his own caste, and, drinking, dancing, and 
tippling, had drifted with it past all knowledge of the 
lapse of time. 

The morning of the eleventh day dawned, and there 
returned no Deesa. Moti Guj was loosed from his ropes 
for the daily stint. He swung clear, looked round, 



216 THE SHOET STOEY 

shrugged his shoulders, and began to walk away, as one 
having business elsewhere. 

"Hi ! ho ! Come back you !" shouted Chihun. "Come 
back and put me on your neck, misborn mountain ! Return, 
splendor of the hill-sides ! Adornment of all India, heave 
to, or 111 bang every toe off your fat forefoot !" 

Moti Guj gurgled gently, but did not obey. Chihun 
ran after him with a rope and caught him up. Moti Guj 
put his ears forward, and Chihun knew what that meant, 
though he tried to carry it off with high words. 

"None of your nonsense with me," said he. "To your 
pickets, devil-son !" 

"Hrrump !" said Moti Guj, and that was all — that and 
the forebent ears. 

Moti Guj put his hands in his pockets, chewed a branch 
for a toothpick, and strolled about the clearing, making 
fun of the other elephants who had just set to work. 

Chihun reported the state of affairs to the planter, who 
came out with a dog- whip and cracked it furiously. Moti 
Guj paid the white man the compliment of charging him 
nearly a quarter of a mile across the clearing and 
"Hrrumphing" him into his veranda. Then he stood 
outside the house, chuckling to himself and shaking all 
over with the fun of it as an elephant will. 

"We'll thrash him," said the planter. "He shall have 
the finest thrashing ever elephant received. Give Kala Nag 
and Nazim twelve foot of chain apiece, and tell them to 
lay on twenty." 

Kala Nag — which means Black Snake — and Nazim were 
two of the biggest elephants in the lines, and one of their 
duties was to administer the graver punishment, since no 
man can beat an elephant properly. 

They took the whipping-chains and rattled them in their 
trunks as they sidled up to Moti Guj, meaning to hustle 



MOTI GUJ— MUTINEEE 217 

him between them. Moti Guj had never, in all his life 

of thirty-nine years, been whipped, and he did not intend 

to begin a new experience. So he waited, waving his head 

from right to left, and measuring the precise spot in Kala 

I Nag's fat side where a blunt tusk could sink deepest. 

i Kala Nag had no tusks; the chain was the badge of his 

authority; but for all that, he swung wide of Moti Guj 

I at the last minute, and tried. to appear as if he had brought 

the chain out for amusement. Nazim turned round and 

went home early. He did not feel fighting fit that morning 

and so Moti Guj was left standing alone with his ears 

cocked. 

That decided the planter to argue no more, and Moti 
Guj rolled back to his amateur inspection of the clearing. 
An elephant who will not work and is not tied up is 
about as manageable as an eighty-one-ton gun loose in a 
heavy seaway. He slapped old friends on the back and 
asked them if the stumps were coming away easily; he 
talked nonsense concerning labor and the inalienable rights 
of elephants to a long "nooning;" and, wandering to and 
fro, he thoroughly demoralized the garden till sundown, 
when he returned to his picket for food. 

"If you won't work, you shan't eat," said Chihun, 
angrily. "You're a wild elephant, and no educated animal 
at all. Go back to your jungle." 

Chimin's little brown baby was rolling on the floor of 
the hut, and stretching out its fat arms to the huge shadow 
in the doorway. Moti Guj knew well that it was the 
dearest thing on earth to Chihun. He swung out his trunk 
with a fascinating crook at the end, and the brown baby 
threw itself, shouting, upon it. Moti Guj made fast and 
pulled up till the brown baby was crowing in the air twelve 
feet above his father's head. 

"Great Lord!" said Chihun. "Flour cakes of the best, 



218 THE SHOKT STORY 

twelve in number, two feet across and soaked in rum, shall 
be yours on the instant, and two hundred pounds weight 
of fresh-cut young sugar-cane therewith. Deign only to 
put down safely that insignificant brat who is my heart 
and my life to me!" 

Moti Guj tucked the brown baby comfortably between 
his forefeet, that could have knocked into toothpicks all 
Chimin's hut, and waited for his food. He eat it, and the 
brown baby crawled away. Moti Guj dozed and thought 
of Deesa. One of many mysteries connected with the 
elephant is that his huge body needs less sleep than any- 
thing else that lives. Four or five hours in the night suffice 
— two just before midnight, lying down on one side; two j 
just after one o'clock, lying down on the other. The rest 
of the silent hours are filled with eating and fidgeting, and 
long grumbling soliloquies. 

At midnight, therefore, Moti Guj strode out of his pick- 
ets, for a thought had come to him that Deesa might be 
lying drunk somewhere in the dark forest with none to look 
after him. So all that night he chased through the under- 
growth, blowing and trumpeting and shaking his ears. He 
went down to the river and blared across the shallows where 
Deesa used to wash him, but there was no answer. He 
could not find Deesa, but he disturbed all the other ele- 
phants in the lines, and nearly frightened to death some 
gypsies in the woods. 

At dawn Deesa returned to the plantation. He had been 
very drunk indeed, and he expected to get into trouble for 
outstaying his leave. He drew a long breath when he saw 
that the bungalow and the plantation were still uninjured, 
for he knew something of Moti Guj's temper, and reported 
himself with many lies and salaams. Moti Guj had gone 
to his pickets for breakfast. The night exercise had made 
him hungry. 



MOTI GUJ— MUTINEER 219 

"Call up your beast," said the planter; and Deesa 
shouted in the mysterious elephant language that some 
mahouts believe came from China at the birth of the world, 
when elephants and not men were masters. Moti Guj 
heard and came. Elephants do not gallop. They move 
from places at varying rates of speed. If an elephant 
wished to catch an express train he could not gallop, but 
he could catch the train. So Moti Guj was at the planter's 
door almost before Chihun noticed that he had left his 
pickets. He fell into Deesa's arms, trumpeting with joy, 
and the man and beast wept and slobbered over each other, 
and handled each other from head to heel to see that no 
harm had befallen. 

"Now we will get to work," said Deesa. "Lift me up, 
my son and my joy!" 

Moti Guj swung him up, and the two went to the coffee- 
clearing to look for difficult stumps. 

The planter was too astonished to be very angry. 

editor's note 

Stories about animals have long been a part of the liter- 
ature of many countries, Aesop's Fables being a familiar 
example. Of recent years the interest in nature study has 
contributed to make this kind of story increasingly popular, 
and some notable books have been written. Of these, the 
Jungle Books of Rudyard Kipling undoubtedly stand at the 
head. 

The animal story usually has human beings as well as 
animals among its characters, but the animals, not the men, 
furnish the chief interest. In this story, as the title sug- 
gests, Moti Guj is the principal character; it might almost 
be called a character-sketch of an elephant. The method 
of the author, here as elsewhere, is to humanize his animals, 
giving to them most of the attributes of men. Thus Moti 
Guj "chuckles to himself," "puts his hands in his pockets," 



220 THE SHOET STOEY 

and "talks nonsense concerning labor/' all in very human 
fashion. 

To write such stories naturally demands a close knowl- 
edge of the ways of animals. This is shown in the present 
story by the incidental references to the food and hours 
of sleep of the elephant. A touch of local color is given I 
by the reproduction of the flowery speech of orientals; 
humor is shown both in dialogue and in incident, as when 
the attempt is made to force Moti Guj to work. 



REPRESENTATIVE ANIMAL STORIES 

Kaa's Hunting; Rikki-Tikki-Tavi; in The Jungle 

Booh Rudyard Kipling 

In the Rukh; in Many Inventions Rudyard Kipling 

The Undertakers ; Red Dog ; in The Second Jungle 

Booh Rudyard Kipling 

Bimi ; in Mine Own People Rudyard Kipling 

Lobo, the King of Currumpaw; in Wild Animals I 

Have Known E. Thompson Seton , 

Johnny Bear; in Lives of the Hunted. . E. Thompson Seton 
The Wonderful Tar Baby; Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Bear; 

in Uncle Remus, His Songs and 

Sayings Joel Chandler" Harris 

Brother Fox Catches Mr. Horse; Aunt Tempsy's Story; 

in Nights with Uncle Remus Joel Chandler Harris 

A Dog of Flanders; in Bimbi, also in Stories of 

English Authors . . '. Ouida 

Rab and His Friends; in Rab and His 

Friends John Brown 

A Passion in the Desert; in Scenes of Military Life; 

also in World's Greatest Short Stories . Honore de Balzac 
The Cat; The Doctor's Horse; in 

Understudies M. E. Wilkins-Freeman 



APOLOGUE 
DR. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT 1 

By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

That very singular man, old Dr. Heidegger, once invited 
four venerable friends to meet him in his study. There 
were three white-bearded gentlemen, Mr. Medbourne, 
Colonel Killigrew, and Mr. Gascoigne, and a withered gen- 
tlewoman, whose name was the Widow Wycherly. They 
were all melancholy old creatures, who had been unfortu- 
nate in life, and whose greatest misfortune it was that 
they were not long ago in their graves. Mr. Medbourne, in 
the vigor of his age, had been a prosperous merchant, and 
had lost his all by a frantic speculation, and was now little 
better than a mendicant. Colonel Killigrew had wasted his 
best years, and his health and substance, in the pursuit of 
sinful pleasures, which had given birth to a brood of pains, 
such as the gout, and divers other torments of soul and 
body. Mr. Gascoigne was a ruined politician, a man of 
evil fame, or at least had been so, till time had buried him 
from the knowledge of the present generation, and made 
him obscure instead of infamous. As for the Widow 
Wycherly, tradition tells us that she was a great beauty 
in her day; but, for a long while past,, she had lived in 
deep seclusion, on account of certain scandalous stories, 
which had prejudiced the gentry of the town against her. 
It is a circumstance worth mentioning, that each of these 

(1) From Twice-Told Tales, published 1837. 

221 



222 THE SHORT STORY 

three old gentlemen, Mr. Medbourne, Colonel Killigrew, p 
and Mr. Gascoigne, were early lovers of the Widow f 
Wycherly, and had once been on the point of cutting each 
other's throats for her sake. And, before proceeding far- <| 
ther, I will merely hint, that Dr. Heidegger and all his 
four guests were sometimes thought to be a little beside 
themselves ; as is not unf requently the case with old people, 
when worried either by present troubles or woeful recol- 
lections. 

"My dear old friends," said Dr. Heidegger, motioning [ 
them to be seated, "I am desirous of your assistance in 
one of those little experiments with which I amuse myself 
here in my study." 

If all stories were true, Dr. Heidegger's study must have 
been a very curious place. It was a dim, old-fashioned 
chamber, festooned with cobwebs and besprinkled with 
antique dust. Around the walls stood several oaken book- 
cases, the lower shelves of which were filled with rows of 
gigantic folios and black-letter quartos, and the upper with 
little parchment-covered duodecimos. Over the central 
bookcase was a bronze bust of Hippocrates, 1 with which, 
according to some authorities, Dr. Heidegger was accus- 
tomed to hold consultations, in all difficult cases of his 
practice. In the obscurest corner of the room stood a tall 
and narrow oaken closet, with its door ajar, within which 
doubtfully appeared a skeleton. Between two of the book- 
cases hung a looking-glass, presenting its high and dusty 
plate within a tarnished gilt frame. Among many wonder- 
ful stories related of this mirror, it was fabled that the 
spirits of all the doctor's deceased patients dwelt within 
its verge, and would stare him in the face whenever he p 
looked thitherward. The opposite side of the chamber 

(1) Hippocrates: a Greek physician, called "the father of 
medicine." 



DE. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT 223 

was ornamented with the full-length portrait of a young 
lady, arrayed in the faded magnificence of silk, satin, and 
brocade, and with a visage as faded as her dress. Above 
half a century ago, Dr. Heidegger had been on the point 
of marriage with this young lady; but, being affected with 
some slight disorder, she had swallowed one of her lover's 
prescriptions, and died on the bridal evening. The greatest 
curiosity of the study remains to be mentioned; it was a 
ponderous folio volume, bound in black leather, with 
massive silver clasps. There were no letters on the back, 
and nobody could tell the title of the book. But it was well 
known to be a book of magic; and once, when a chamber- 
maid had lifted it, merely to brush away the dust, the 
skeleton had rattled in its closet, the picture of the young 
lady had stepped one foot upon the floor, and several 
ghastly faces had peeped forth from the mirror; while the 
brazen head of Hippocrates frowned, and said, "Forbear!" 

Such was Dr. Heidegger's study. On the summer after- 
noon of our tale, a small round table, as black as ebony, 
stood in the centre of the room, sustaining a cut-glass vase, 
of beautiful form and elaborate workmanship. The sun- 
shine came through the window, between the heavy festoons 
of two faded damask curtains, and fell directly across this 
vase; so that a mild splendor was reflected from it on the 
ashen visages of the five old people who sat around. Four 
champagne-glasses were also on the table. 

"My dear old friends," repeated Dr. Heidegger, "may 
I reckon on your aid in performing an exceedingly curious 
experiment?" 

Now Dr. Heidegger was a very strange old gentleman, 
whose eccentricity had become the nucleus for a thousand 
fantastic stories. Some of these fables, to my shame be it 
spoken, might possibly be traced back to mine own veracious 
self; and if any passages of the present tale should startle 



224 THE SHOKT STORY 

the reader's faith, I must be content to bear the stigma 
of a fiction-monger. 

When the doctor's four guests heard him talk of his pro- 
posed experiment, they anticipated nothing more wonderful 
than the murder of a mouse in an air-pump, or the examina- 
tion of a cobweb by the microscope, or some similar non- 
sense, with which he was constantly in the habit of 
pestering his intimates. But without waiting for a reply, 
Dr. Heidegger hobbled across the chamber, and returned 
with the same ponderous folio, bound in black leather,! 
which common report affirmed to be a book of magic. 
Undoing the silver clasps, he opened the volume, and took 
from among its black-letter pages a rose, or what was once 
a rose, though now the green leaves and crimson petals 
had assumed one brownish hue, and the ancient flower I 
seemed ready to crumble to dust in the doctor's hands. 

"This rose," said Dr. Heidegger, with a sigh, "this same 
withered and crumbling flower, blossomed five-and-fifty, 
years ago. It was given me by Sylvia Ward, whose portrait 
hangs yonder; and I meant to wear it in my bosom at our 
wedding, Five-and-fifty years it has been treasured' 
between the leaves of this old volume. Now, would you 
deem it possible that this rose of half a century could ever 
bloom again?" 

"Nonsense!" said the Widow Wycherly, with a peevish 
toss of her head. "You might as well ask whether an old 
woman's wrinkled face could ever bloom again." 

"See!" answered Dr. Heidegger. 

He uncovered the vase, and threw the faded rose into the. 
water which it contained. At first, it lay lightly on the sur- 
face of the fluid, appearing to imbibe none of its moisture. 
Soon, however, a singular change began to be visible. The 
crushed and dried petals stirred, and assumed a deepening, 
tinge of crimson, as if the flower were reviving from r 



DK. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT 225 

death-like slumber; the slender stalk and twigs of foliage 
became green; and there was the rose of half a century, 
looking as fresh as when Sylvia Ward had first given it to 
her lover. It was scarcely full-blown; for some of its 
' delicate red leaves curled modestly around its moist bosom, 
within which two or three dew-drops were sparkling. 

"That is certainly a very pretty deception," said the doc- 
tor's friends; carelessly, however, for they had witnessed 
greater miracles at a conjuror's show; "pray how was it 
effected ?" 

"Did you never hear of the 'Fountain of Youth,' " asked 
Dr. Heidegger, "which Ponce de Leon, the Spanish adven- 
turer, went in search of, two or three centuries ago?" 

"But did Ponce de Leon ever find it?" said the Widow 
Wycherly. 

"No," answered Dr. Heidegger, "for he never sought it 
in the right place. The famous Fountain of Youth, if I 
am rightly informed, is situated in the southern part of the 
Floridian peninsula, not far from Lake Macaco. Its source 
is overshadowed by several gigantic magnolias, which, 
though numberless centuries old, have been kept as fresh 
as violets, by the virtues of this wonderful water. An 
/acquaintance of mine, knowing my curiosity in such matters, 
has sent me what you see in the vase." 

"Ahem !" said Colonel Killigrew, who believed not a word 
of the doctor's story; "and what may be the effect of this 
fluid on the human frame?" 

"You shall judge for yourself, my dear Colonel," replied 
Dr. Heidegger; "and all of you, my respected friends, are 
welcome to so much of this admirable fluid as may restore 
. to you the bloom of youth. For my own part, having had 
much trouble in growing old, I am in no hurry to grow 
s young again. With your permission, therefore, I will 
merely watch the progress of the experiment." 



226 THE SHOKT STORY 

While he spoke, Dr. Heidegger had been filling the four 
champagne-glasses with the water of the Fountain of Youth. 
It was apparently impregnated with an effervescent gas, 
for little bubbles were continually ascending from the 
depths of the glasses, and bursting in silvery spray at the 
surface. As the liquor diffused a pleasant perfume, the 
old people doubted not that it possessed cordial and com- 
fortable properties; and, though utter skeptics as to its 
rejuvenescent power, they were inclined to swallow it at 
once. But Dr. Heidegger besought them to stay a moment. 

"Before you drink, my respectable old friends," said he, 
"it would be well that, with the experience of a lifetime 
to direct you, you should draw up a few general rules for 
your guidance, in passing a second time through the perils 
of youth. Think what a sin and shame it would be, if, with 
your peculiar advantages, you should not become patterns 
of virtue and wisdom to all the young people of the age." 

The doctor's four venerable friends made him no answer, 
except by a feeble and tremulous laugh; so very ridiculous 
was the idea, that, knowing how closely repentance treads 
behind the steps of error, they should ever go astray again. 

"Drink, then," said the doctor, bowing. "I rejoice that 
I have so well selected the subjects of my experiment." 

With palsied hands, they raised the glasses to their lips. 
The liquor, if it really possessed such virtues as Dr. 
Heidegger imputed to it, could not have been bestowed 
on four human beings who needed it more woefully. They 
looked as if they had never known what youth or pleasure 
was, but had been the offspring of Nature's dotage, and 
always the gray, decrepit, sapless, miserable creatures 
who now sat stooping round the doctor's table, without 
life enough in their souls or bodies to be animated even | 
by the prospect of growing young again. They drank off 
the water, and replaced their glasses on the table. 



DK. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT 227 

Assuredly there was an almost immediate improvement 
in the aspect of the party, not unlike what might have 
been produced by a glass of generous wine, together with 
a sudden glow of cheerful sunshine, brightening over all 
their visages at once. There was a healthful suffusion on 
their cheeks, instead of the ashen hue that had made them 
look so corpse-like. They gazed at one another, and fancied 
that some magic power had really begun to smooth away 
the deep and sad inscriptions which Father Time had been 
so long engraving on their brows. The Widow Wycherly 
adjusted her cap, for she felt almost like a woman again. 

"Give us more of this wondrous water !" cried they, 
eagerly. 

"We are younger, — but we are still too old! Quick, — 
give us more !" 

"Patience, patience !" quoth Dr. Heidegger, who sat 
watching the experiment, with philosophic coolness. "You 
have been a long time growing old. Surely, you might 
be content to grow young in half an hour ! But the water 
is at your service." 

Again he filled their glasses with the liquor of youth, 
enough of which still remained in the vase to turn half the 
old people in the city to the age of their own grandchildren. 
While the bubbles were yet sparkling on the brim, the 
doctor's four guests snatched their glasses from the table, 
and swallowed the contents at a single gulp. Was it 
delusion? even while the draught was passing down their 
throats, it seemed to have wrought a change on their whole 
systems. Their eyes grew clear and bright; a dark shade 
deepened among their silvery locks; they sat around the 
table, three gentlemen of middle age, and a woman, hardly 
beyond her buxom prime. 

"My dear widow, you are charming!" cried Colonel Killi- 
grew, whose eyes had been fixed upon her face, while the 



228 THE SHOET STOEY 

shadows of age were flitting from it like darkness from the 
crimson daybreak. 

The fair widow knew, of old, that Colonel Killigrew's 
compliments were not always measured by sober truth; so 
she started up and ran to the mirror, still dreading that 
the ugly visage of an old woman would meet her gaze. 
Meanwhile, the three gentlemen behaved in such a manner 
as proved that the water of the Fountain of Youth pos- 
sessed some intoxicating qualities ; unless, indeed, their 
exhilaration of spirits were merely a lightsome dizziness, 
caused by the sudden removal of the weight of years. Mr. 
Gascoigne's mind seemed to run on political topics, but 
whether relating to the past, present, or future, could not 
easily be determined, since the same ideas and phrases 
have been in vogue these fifty years. Now he rattled forth 
full-throated sentences about patriotism, national glory, 
and the people's right; now he muttered some perilous 
stuff or other, in a sly and doubtful whisper, so cautiously 
that even his own conscience could scarcely catch the secret ; 
and now, again, he spoke in measured accents, and a deeply : 
deferential tone, as if a royal ear were listening to his well- 
turned periods. Colonel Killigrew all this time had been 
trolling forth a jolly bottle-song, and ringing his glass in 
symphony with the chorus, while his eyes wandered toward 
the buxom figure of the Widow Wycherly. On the other 
side of the table, Mr. Medbourne was involved in a calcula- 
tion of dollars and cents, with which was strangely inter- 
mingled a project for supplying the East Indies with ice, 
by harnessing a team of whales to the polar icebergs. 

As for the Widow Wycherly, she stood before the mirror 
courtesying and simpering to her own image, and greeting; 
it as the friend whom she loved better than all the world 
beside. She thrust her face close to the glass, to see 
whether some long-remembered wrinkle or crow's-foot had 



DR. HEIDEGGEK'S EXPERIMENT 229 

indeed vanished. She examined whether the snow had so 
entirely melted from her hair, that the venerable cap could 
be safely thrown aside. At last, turning briskly away, 
she came with a sort of dancing step to the table. 

"My dear old doctor," cried she, "pray favor me with 
another glass!" 

"Certainly, my dear madam, certainly !" replied the com- 
plaisant doctor; "see! I have already filled the glasses." 

There, in fact, stood the four glasses, brimful of this 
wonderful water, the delicate spray of which, as it effer- 
vesced from the surface, resembled the tremulous glitter 
of diamonds. It was now so nearly sunset that the chamber 
had grown duskier than ever; but a mild and moon-like 
splendor gleamed from within the vase, and rested alike 
on the four guests, and on the doctor's venerable figure. 
He sat in a high-backed, elaborately-carved oaken arm- 
chair, with a gray dignity of aspect that might have well 
befitted that very Father Time, whose power had never 
been disputed, save by this fortunate company. Even while 
quaffing the third draught of the Fountain of Youth, they 
were almost awed by the expression of his mysterious 
visage. 

But, the next moment, the exhilarating gush of young life 
shot through their veins. They were now in the happy 
prime of youth. Age, with its miserable train of cares, and 
sorrows, and diseases, was remembered only as the trouble 
of a dream, from which they had joyously awoke. The 
fresh gloss of the soul, so early lost, and without which 
the world's successive scenes had been but a gallery of 
faded pictures, again threw its enchantment over all their 
prospects. They felt like new-created beings, in a new- 
created universe. 

"We are young! We are young!" they cried exultingly. 
Youth, like the extremity of age, had effaced the strongly 



230 THE SHORT STORY 

marked characteristics of middle life, and mutually assimi- 
lated them all. They were a group of merry youngsters, 
almost maddened with the exuberant frolicksomeness of 
their years. The most singular effect of their gaiety was 
an impulse to mock the infirmity and decrepitude of which 
they had so lately been the victims. They laughed loudly 
at their old-fashioned attire, the wide-skirted coats and 
flapped waistcoats of the young men, and the ancient cap 
and gown of the blooming girl. One limped across the 
floor, like a gouty grandfather; one set a pair of spectacles 
astride of his nose, and pretended to pore over the black 
letter pages of the book of magic; a third seated himself 
in an arm-chair, and strove to imitate the venerable dignity 
of Dr. Heidegger. Then all shouted mirthfully, and leaped 
about the room. The Widow Wycherly — if so fresh a 
damsel could be called a widow — tripped up to the doctor's 
chair, with a mischievous merriment in her rosy face. 

"Doctor, you dear old soul," cried she, "get up and dance 
with me !" And then the four young people laughed louder 
than ever, to think what a queer figure the poor" old doctor 
would cut. 

"Pray excuse me," answered the doctor, quietly. "I am 
old and rheumatic, and my dancing days were over long ago. 
But either of these gay young gentlemen will be glad of so 
pretty a partner." 

"Dance with me, Clara!" cried Colonel Killigrew. 

"No, no, I will be her partner !" shouted Mr. Gascoigne. 

"She promised me her hand, fifty years ago !" exclaimed 
Mr. Medbourne. 

They all gathered round her. One caught both her hands 
in his passionate grasp, — another threw his arm about her 
waist, — the third buried his hand among the glossy curls 
that clustered beneath the widow's cap. Blushing, panting, 
struggling, chiding, laughing, her warm breath fanning 



DK. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT 231 

each of their faces by turns, she strove to disengage herself, 
yet still remained in their triple embrace. Never was there 
a livelier picture of youthful rivalship, with bewitching 
beauty for the prize. Yet, by a strange deception, owing 
to the duskiness of the chamber, and the antique dresses 
which they still wore, the tall mirror is said to have reflected 
the figures of the three old, gray, withered grandsires, 
ridiculously contending for the skinny ugliness of a 
shrivelled grandam. 

But they were young; their burning passions proved 
them so. Inflamed to madness by the coquetry of the girl- 
widow, who neither granted nor quite withheld her favors, 
the three rivals began to interchange threatening glances. 
Still keeping hold of the fair prize, they grappled fiercely 
at one another's throats. As they struggled to and fro, the 
table was overturned, and the vase dashed into a thousand 
fragments. The precious Water of Youth flowed in a 
bright stream across the floor, moistening the* wings of 
a butterfly, which, grown old in the decline of summer, had 
alighted there to die. The insect fluttered lightly through 
the chamber, and settled on the snowy head of Dr. 
Heidegger. 

"Come, come, gentlemen ! — come, Madam Wycherly," 
exclaimed the doctor, "I really must protest against this 
riot." 

They stood still and shivered; for it seemed as if gray 
Time were calling them back from their sunny youth, far 
down into the chill and darksome vale of years. They 
looked at old Dr. Heidegger, who sat in his carved arm- 
chair, holding the rose of half a century, which he had 
rescued from among the fragments of the shattered vase. 
At the motion of his hand, the four rioters resumed their 
seats : the more readily, because their violent exertions had 
wearied them, youthful though they were. 



232 THE SHORT STORY 

"My poor Sylvia's rose!" ejaculated Dr. Heidegger, 
holding it in the light of the sunset clouds; "it appears to 
be fading again." 

And so it was. Even while the party were looking at it, 
the flower continued to shrivel up, till it became as dry and 
fragile as when the doctor had first thrown it into the vase. 
He shook off the few drops of moisture which clung to its 
petals. 

"I love it as well thus, as in its dewy freshness," 
observed he, pressing the withered rose to his withered lips. 
While he spoke, the butterfly fluttered down from the 
doctor's snowy head, and fell upon the floor. 

His guests shivered again. A strange dullness, whether 
of the body or spirit they could not tell, was creeping grad- 
ually over them all. They gazed at one another, and 
fancied that each fleeting moment snatched away a charm, 
and left a deepening furrow where none had been before. 
Was it an illusion? Had the changes of a life-time been 
crowded into so brief a space, and were they now four 
aged people, sitting with, their old friend, Dr. Heidegger? 

"Are we grown old again, so soon !" cried they, dolefully. 

In truth, they had. The Water of Youth possessed 
merely a virtue more transient than that of wine. The 
delirium which it created had effervesced away. Yes ! they 
were old again. With a shuddering impulse, that showed 
her a woman still, the widow clasped her skinny hands 
before her face, and wished that the coffin-lid were over 
it, since it could be no longer beautiful. 

"Yes, friends, ye are old again," said Dr. Heidegger; 
"and lo ! the Water of Youth is all lavished on the ground. 
Well, — I bemoan it not; for if the fountain gushed at my 
very doorstep, I would not stoop to bathe my lips in it; — 
no, though its delirium were for years instead of moments. 
Such is the lesson ye have taught me!" 



DE. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT 233 

But the doctor's four friends had taught no such lesson 
to themselves. They resolved forthwith to make a pilgrim- 
j age to Florida, and quaff at morning, noon, and night from 
I the Fountain of Youth. 

editor's note 

Every story is written to entertain the reader: the 
I apologue is a story with a purpose beyond mere entertain- 
ment. Thus E. E. Hale's story "The Man Without a 
Country" teaches the lesson of patriotism. The apologue 
I may enforce good manners, or prudence, or virtue, or any 
I other lesson: the essential thing is, that the author has 
an ulterior purpose, and uses fiction merely as a means to 
an end. 

The simplest form of apologue is the fable. This usually 
has animals as characters ; Aesop's story of "The Fox and 
the Grapes" is a familiar example. Next comes the para- 
ble. Like the fable, it teaches a lesson, but it does not 
represent animals as speaking, it keeps closer to the facts 
of life. The parable of the prodigal son and others in the 
New Testament are examples. A third form is allegory, 
in which abstract qualities are personified. Thus in The 
Pilgrim's Progress we have Giant Despair, Faint-Heart, 
and others. Doctor Heidegger's Experiment is also 
allegory, the characters standing for certain qualities, as 
the widow Wycherly for coquetry, etc. The term apologue 
includes the fable, the parable, and the allegory, as all have 
the common purpose of enforcing a lesson. 

In the present story, Doctor Heidegger, after witnessing 
the effect of the Water of Life upon his friends, says "Such 
is the lesson ye have taught me !" And what was the 
lesson? That if we had our lives to live over again, we 
should be just as foolish, just as thoughtless, just as evil 
as we were before. That is the truth that Hawthorne 
meant to enforce. To make it real and vivid, he chooses 
characters that are types of mis-spent lives : the speculator, 



234: THE SHORT STORY 

the coquette, the unscrupulous politician, the debauchee. 
That these may be given a chance to re-live their lives 
there must be a touch of the supernatural; so the Water 
of Life is introduced. Its power is first shown when it 
revives the withered rose: this is not so difficult to believe, 
and thus we are unconsciously led to believe in its power 
to restore youth. Even here, Hawthorne is careful not to 
go too far beyond probability: he says that even while the 
four fancied themselves young again, the mirror reflected 
them as wrinkled and as aged as before, suggesting that 
it was all an illusion after all. 

The danger in writing apologue is that the author, intent 
upon bringing out his moral, may neglect the story. In 
this delicate balancing of the claims of fiction and serious 
purpose, few authors have succeeded so well as Hawthorne. 
In "The Great Stone Face," "The Great Carbuncle" and 
others he has shown his mastery. Of recent years the 
apologue seems to be gaining in favor. Rudyard Kipling 
has used it in "The Mother Hive" to express his opinion 
of Socialism, while numerous stories in current magazines 
dealing with various forms of social injustice are distinctly 
of this type. 

REPRESENTATIVE APOLOGUES 

The Man Without a Country; in volume with same 

title Edward Everett Hale 

The Great Stone Face; The Man of Adamant; in The 

Snozc Image Nathaniel Hawthorne 

Feathertop; The Birthmark; in Mosses From an Old 

Manse Nathaniel Hawthorne 

The Minister's Black Veil; The Great Carbuncle; in 

Twice-Told Tales Nathaniel Hawthorne 

The Mother Hive; in Actions and 

• Reactions Rudyard Kipling 

A Walking Delegate; in The Bay's 

Work Rudyard Kipling 



DK. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT 235 

Baa, Baa, Black Sheep ; in Under the 

Deodars Rudyard Kipling 

An Unfinished Story ; in The Four Million O. Henry 

Roads of Destiny; in Roads of Destiny . . .O. Henry 

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; in Dr. Jehyll and 

Mr. Hyde R. L. Stevenson 

A Christmas Carol; in Christmas Stories. .Charles Dickens 
The Gifts of the Philosophers; in Wards of 

Liberty Myra Kelly 

The Beggar; in The Odd Number Guy de Maupassant 

The Vision of Mirza ; in Spectator, 

No. 159 Joseph Addison 

At Table; in Ten Tales Francois Coppee 

The Passing of the Third Floor Back; in The Passing 

of the Third Floor Bach Jerome K. Jerome 

The Goat of Monsieur Seguin; in Letters from My 

Mill Alphonse Daudet 

The Master of the Inn; in The Master of the 

Inn Robert Herrick 

The Tipster; Pike's Peak or Bust; in Wall Street 

Stories Edwin Lefevre 



STORY OF INGENUITY 
THE GOLD-BUG 1 

By EDGAR ALLAN TOE 

What ho ! what ho ! this fellow is dancing mad ! 
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula. 

All in the Wrong. 

Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. 
William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, 
and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes 
had reduced him to want. To avoid the mortification con- 
sequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the city of 
his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's 
Island, near Charleston, South Carolina. 

This island is a very singular one. It consists of little 
else than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its 
breadth at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is 
separated from the mainland by a scarcely perceptible 
creek, oozing its way through a wilderness of reeds and 
slime, a favorite resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, 
as might be supposed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No 
trees of any magnitude are to be seen. Near the western 
extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are 
some miserable frame buildings, tenanted during summer 
by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever, may be 
found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the whole island, 
with the exception of this western point, and a line of hard 
white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a dense under- 

(1) From Prose Tales. This story was first published in 1843 in 
The Dollar Newspaper, winning a prize of $100. 

236 



THE GOLD-BUG 237 

growth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticul- 
turists of England. The shrub here often attains the height 
of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost impenetrable 
coppice, burdening the air with its fragrance. 

In the utmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the 
eastern or more remote end of the island, Legrand had 
built himself a small hut, which he occupied when I first, 
by mere accident, made his acquaintance. This soon 
ripened into friendship — for there was much in the recluse 
to excite interest and esteem. I found him well educated, 
with unusual powers of mind, but infected with misan- 
thropy, and subject to perverse moods of alternate 
enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with him many books, 
but rarely employed them. His chief amusements were 
gunning and fishing, or sauntering along the beach and 
through the myrtles in quest of shells or entomological 
specimens ; — his collection of the latter might have been 
envied by a Swammerdamm. 1 In these excursions he was 
usually accompanied by an old negro, called Jupiter, who 
had been manumitted before the reverses of the family, but 
who could be induced, neither by threats nor by promises, 
to abandon what he considered his right of attendance 
upon the footsteps of his young "Massa Will." It is not 
improbable that the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him 
to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived to instil 
this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision 
and guardianship of the wanderer. 

The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are 
seldom very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare 
event indeed when a fire is considered necessary. About 
the middle of October, 18 — , there occurred, however, a 
day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I scram- 

(1) Swammerdamm : a Dutch naturalist, one of whose books was 
translated by Poe. 



238 THE SHOET STORY 

bled my way through the evergreens to the hut of my 
friend, whom I had not visited for several weeks — my 
residence being at that time in Charleston, a distance of - 
nine miles from the island, while the facilities of passage 
and repassage were very far behind those of the present 
day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom, 
and, getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it [ 
was secreted, unlocked the door and went in. A fine fire 
was blazing upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by no It 
means an ungrateful one. I threw off an overcoat, took 
an armchair by the crackling logs, and awaited patiently p 
the arrival of my hosts. 

Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial 
welcome. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about 
to prepare some marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in 
one of his fits — how else shall I term them? — of enthusiasm. 
He had found an unknown bivalve, forming a new genus, ;; 
and, more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with 
Jupiter's assistance, a scarabceus 1 which he believed to be 
totally new, but in respect to which he wished to have my 
opinion on the morrow. 

"And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands 
over the blaze, and wishing the whole tribe of scarabcei at i 
the devil. 

"Ah, if I had only known you were here !" said Legrand, 
"but it's so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee 
that you would pay me a visit this very night of all others ? 

As I was coming home I met Lieutenant G , from the 

fort, and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug; so it will be 
impossible for you to see it until the morning. Stay here 
tonight, and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is |c 
the loveliest thing in creation !" 

"What ? — sunrise ?" 

(1) scarabseus ; a beetle. 



THE GOLD-BUG 239 

"Nonsense! no! — the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color 
— about the size of a large hickory-nut — with two jet-black 
spots near one extremity of the back, and another, some- 
what longer, at the other. The antenna; are — " 

"Dey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a tellin on 
you," here interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole-bug, 
solid, ebery bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing — neber 
feel half so hebby a bug in my life." 

"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, somewhat 
more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, 
"is that any reason for your letting the birds burn? The 
color" — here he turned to me — "is really almost enough 
to warrant Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliant 
metallic lustre than the scales emit — but of this you cannot 
judge till tomorrow. In the meantime I can give you 
some idea of the shape." Saying this, he seated himself 
at a small table, on which were a pen and ink, but no paper. 
He looked for some in a drawer, but found none. 

"Never mind," said he at length, "this will answer" ; and 
he drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took 
to be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing 
with the pen. While he did this, I retained my seat by the 
fire, for I was still chilly. When the design was complete, 
he handed it to me without rising. As I received it, a low 
growl was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door. 
Jupiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging 
to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and 
loaded me with caresses ; for I had shown him much 
attention during previous visits. When his gambols were 
over, I looked at the paper, and, to speak the truth, found 
myself not a little puzzled at what my friend had depicted. 

"Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, 
"this is a strange scarabceus, I must confess; new to me; 
never saw anything like it before — unless it was a skull, or 



240 THE SHOET STORY 

a death's-head, which it more nearly resembles than 
anything else that has come under my observation." 

"A death's-head !" echoed Legrand — "oh — yes — well, it 
has something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. 
The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh? and the 
longer one at the bottom like a mouth — and then the shape 
of the whole is oval." 

"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are 
no artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am 
to form any idea of its personal appearance." 

"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw 
tolerably- — should do it at least — have had good, masters, 
and flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead." 

"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said II 
"this is a very passable skull, — indeed, I may say that it, 
is a very excellent skull, according to the vulgar notions 
about such specimens of physiology — and your scarabceus 
must be the queerest scarabceus in the world if it resembles, 
it. Why, we may get up a very thrilling bit of superstition 
upon this hint. I presume you will call the bug scarabceus 
caput hominis, 1 or something of that kind — there are many ! 
similar titles in the Natural Histories. But where are the. 
antennce you spoke of?" 

"The antennce!" said Legrand, who seemed to be getting 
unaccountably warm upon the subject; "I am sure you. 
must see the antennce. I made them as distinct as they are 
in the original insect, and I presume that is sufficient." 

"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have — still I don't 
see them" ; and I handed him the paper without additional 
remark, not wishing to ruffle his temper; but I was much 
surprised at the turn affairs had taken; his ill humor 
puzzled me — and as for the drawing of the beetle, there 
were positively no antennce visible, and the whole did bear 

(1) scarabceus caput hominis: ckath's-head boetle. 



THE GOLD-BUG 241 

a very close resemblance to the ordinary cuts of a death's- 
head. 

He received the paper very peevishly, and was about 
to crumple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a 
casual glance at the design seemed suddenly to rivet his 
attention. In an instant his face grew violently red — in 
another as excessively pale. For some minutes he continued 
to scrutinize the drawing minutely where he sat. At length 
he arose, took a candle from the table, and proceeded to 
seat himself upon a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the 
room. Here again he made an anxious examination of the 
paper; turning it in all directions. He said nothing, how- 
ever, and his conduct greatly astonished me; yet I thought 
it prudent not to exacerbate the growing moodiness of his 
temper by any comment. Presently he took from his coat 
pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in it, and 
deposited both in a writing-desk, which he locked. He now 
grew more composed in his demeanor; but his original air 
of enthusiasm had quite disappeared. Yet he seemed not 
so much sulky as abstracted. iVs the evening wore away 
he became more and more absorbed in revery, from which 
no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my inten- 
tion to pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently done 
before, but, seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper 
to take leave. He did not press me to remain, but, as I 
departed, he shook my hand with even more than his usual 
cordiality. 

It was about a month after this (and during the interval 
I had seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, 
at Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen 
the good old negro look so dispirited, and I feared that 
some serious disaster had befallen my friend. 

"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now? — how is 
your master?" 



242 THE SHOET STORY 

"Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well 
as mought be." 

"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does 
he complain of?" 

"Dar! dat's it! — him neber plain of notin — but him 
berry sick for all dat." 

"Very sick. Jupiter! — why didn't you say so at once? 
Is he confined to bed?" 

"No, dat he aint! — he aint find nowhar — dat's just whar i 
de shoe pinch — my mind is got to be berry hebby bout 
poor Massa Will." 

"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are 
talking about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he 
told you what ails him?" 

"Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad bout de 
matter — Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid 
him — but den what make him go bout looking dis here ' 
way, wid he head down and he soldiers 1 up, and as white 
as a gose? 2 And then he keejJS a syphon all de time — " ' 

"Keeps a what, Jupiter?" 

"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate — de queerest 
figgurs I ebber did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. 
Hab for to keep mighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder 
day he gib me slip fore de sun up and was gone de whole 
ob de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for to gib 

him d d good beating when he did come — but Ise sich | 

a fool dat I hadn't de heart arter all — he look so berry 
poorly/' 

"Eh? — what? — ah, yes! — upon the whole I think you 
had better not be too severe with the poor fellow — don't 
flog him, Jupiter — he can't very well stand it — but can you 
form no idea of what has occasioned this illness, or rather 

(1) soldiers : shoulders. 

(2) go s e : ghost. 



THE GOLD-BUG 243 

this change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant hap- 
pened since I saw you?" 

"No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant since den — 
'twas fore den I'm feared — 'twas de berry day you was 
dare." 

"How? what do you mean?" 

"Why, massa, I mean de bug — dare now." 

"The what?" 

"De bug — I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit 
somewhere bout de head by dat goole-bug." 

"And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a suppo- 
sition?" 

"Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see 

sich a d d bug — he kick and he bite every ting what 

cum near him. Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to 
let him go gin mighty quick, I tell you — den was de time he 
must ha got de bite. I didn't like de look ob de bug mouff, 
myself, no how, so I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my 
finger, but I cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. 
I rap him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff — 
dat was de way." 

"And you think, then, that your master was really bitten 
by the beetle, and that the bite made him sick?" 

"I don't tink noffin about it — I nose it. What make him 
dream bout de goole so much, if taint cause he bit by de 
goole-bug? Ise heerd bout dem goole-bugs fore dis." 

"But how do you know he dreams about gold?" 

"How I know? why, cause he talk about it in he sleep — 
dat's how I nose." 

"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what for- 
tunate circumstances am I to attribute the honor of a visit 
from you to-day?" 

"What de matter, massa?" 



244 " THE SHOET STOEY 

"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?" 
"No, massa, I bring dis here pissel"; and here Jupiter 
handed me a note which ran thus: 

My dear : Why have I not seen you for so long 

a time? I hope you have not been so foolish as to take 
offense at any little brusquerie of mine; but no, that is 
improbable. 

Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. 
I have something to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell 
it, or whether I should tell it at all. 

I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor 
old Jup annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by his well- 
meant attentions. Would you believe it? — he had prepared 
a huge stick, the other day, with which to chastise me for 
giving him the slip, and spending the day, solus, among 
the hills on the mainland. I verily believe that my ill 
looks alone saved me a flogging. 

I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met. 

If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over 
with Jupiter. Do come. I wish to see you tonight, upon 
business of importance. I assure you that it is of the 
highest importance. 

Ever yours, 

William Le grand. 

There was something in the tone of this note which 
gave me great uneasiness. Its whole style differed ma- 
terially from that of Legrand. What could he be dreaming 
of? W T hat new crotchet possessed his excitable brain? 
What "business of the highest importance" could he pos- 
sibly have to transact? Jupiter's account of him boded no 
good. I dreaded lest the continued pressure of misfortune 
had, at length, fairly unsettled the reason of my friend. 
Without a moment's hesitation, therefore, I prepared to 
accompany the negro. 



THE GOLD-BUG 245 

Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three 
spades, all apparently new, lying in the bottom of the 
boat in which we were to embark. 

"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired. 

"Him syfe, massa, and spade." 

"Very true; but what are they doing here?" 

"Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon 
my buying for him in de town, and de debbil's own lot 
of money I had to gib for em." 

"But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is 
your 'Massa Will' going to do with scythes and spades?" 

"Dat's more dan / know, and debbil take me if I don't 
believe 'tis more dan he know, too. But it's all cum ob 
de bug." 

Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupi- 
ter, whose whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de 
bug," I now stepped into the boat and made sail. With 
a fair and strong breeze we soon ran into the little cove 
to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and a walk of some 
two miles brought us to the hut. It was about three in 
the afternoon when we arrived. Legrand had been await- 
ing us in eager expectation. He grasped my hand with 
a nervous empressement, 1 which alarmed me and strength- 
ened the suspicions already entertained. His countenance 
was pale even to ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes glared 
with unnatural lustre. After some inquiries respecting 
his health, I asked him, not knowing what better to say. 
if he had yet obtained the scarabceus from Lieutenant 
G . 

"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got it from 
him the next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part 
with that scarabceus. Do you know that Jupiter is quite 
right about it?" 

(1) empressement: intensity. 



246 THE SHOET STOEY 

"In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at 
heart. 

"In supposing it to be a bug of real gold." He said 
this with an air of profound seriousness, and I felt inex- 
pressibly shocked. 

"This bug is to make my fortune/' he continued, with a 
triumphant smile, "to reinstate me in my family posses- 
sions. Is it any wonder, then, that I prize it? Since 
Fortune has thought fit to bestow it upon me, I have only 
to use it properly and I shall arrive at the gold of which 
it is the index. Jupiter, bring me that scarabceus!" 

"What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble 
dat bug — you mus git him for your own self." Hereupon 
Legrand arose, with a grave and stately air, and brought 
me the beetle from a glass case in which it was enclosed. 
It was a beautiful scaraboeus, and, at that time, unknown 
to naturalists — of course a great prize in a scientific point 
of view. There were two round, black spots near one 
extremity of the back, and a long one near the other. The 
scales were exceedingly hard and glossy, with all the 
appearance of burnished gold. The weight of the insect j 
was very remarkable, and, taking all things into considera- 
tion, I could hardly blame Jupiter for his opinion respect- 
ing it; but what to make of Legrand's agreement with that 
opinion, I could not, for the life of me, tell. 

"I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when 
I had completed my examination of the beetle, "I sent for , 
you that I might have your counsel and assistance in fur| 
thering the views of Fate and of the bug — " 

"My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are 

certainly unwell, and had better use some little precautions. 

You shall go to bed, and I will remain with you a few 

days, until you get over this. You are feverish and — I 

"Feel my pulse," said he. 



THE GOLD-BUG 247 

I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest 
indication of fever. 

"But you may be ill, and yet have no fever. Allow me 
this once to prescribe for you. In the first place, go to 
bed. In the next — " 

"You are mistaken," he interposed, "I am as well as I 
can expect to be under the excitement which I suffer. If 
you really wish me well, you will relieve this excitement." 

"And how is this to be done?" 

"Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an 
expedition into the hills, upon the mainland, and, in this 
expedition, we shall need the aid of some person in whom 
we can confide. You are the only one we can trust. 
Whether we succeed or fail, the excitement which you now 
perceive in me will be equally allayed." 

"I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I replied; 
"but do you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any 
connection with your expedition into the hills." 

"It has." 

"Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd 
proceeding." 

"I am sorry — very sorry — for we shall have to try it by 
ourselves." 

"Try it by yourselves ! The man is surely mad ! — but 
stay — how long do you propose to be absent?" 

"Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be 
back, at all events, by sunrise." 

"And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when 
this freak of yours is over and the bug business (good 
God !) settled to your satisfaction, you will then return 
home and follow my advice implicitly, as that of your 
physician?" 

"Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no 
time to lose." 



248 THE SHOET STOEY 

With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We 
started about four o'clock — Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and 
myself. Jupiter had with him the scythe and spades — 
the whole of which he insisted upon carrying, more through 
fear, it seemed to me, of trusting either of the implements 
within reach of his master, than from any excess of industry 
or complaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, 

and "dat d d bug" were the sole words which escaped 

his lips during the j ourney. For my own part, I had charge 
of a couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand contented 
himself with the scarabceus, which he carried attached to 
the end of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to and fro, with 
the air of a conjuror, as he went. When I observed this 
last, plain evidence of my friend's aberration of mind, I 
could scarcely refrain from tears. I thought it best, how- 
ever, to humor his fancy, at least for the present, or until 
I could adopt some more energetic measures with a chance 
of success. In the meantime I endeavored, but all in vain, 
to sound him in regard to the object of the expedition. 
Having succeeded in inducing me to accompany him, he 
seemed unwilling to hold conversation upon any topic of 
minor importance, and to all my questions vouchsafed no 
other reply than "We shall see !" 

We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means 
of a skiff, and, ascending the high grounds on the shore 
of the mainland, proceeded in a northwesterly direction, 
through a tract of country excessively wild and desolate, 
where no trace of a human footstep was to be seen. Le- 
grand led the way with decision; pausing only for an 
instant, here and there, to consult what appeared to be 
certain landmarks of his own contrivance upon a former 
occasion. 

In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and 
the sun was just setting when we entered a region infinitely 



THE GOLD-BUG 249 

more dreary than any yet seen. It was a species of table- 
land, near the summit of an almost inaccessible hill, densely 
wooded from base to pinnacle, and interspersed with huge 
crags that appeared to lie loosely upon the soil, and in 
many cases were prevented from precipitating themselves 
into the valleys below merely by the support of the trees 
against which they reclined. Deep ravines, in various 
directions, gave an air of still sterner solemnity to the 
scene. 

The natural platform to which we had clambered was 
thickly overgrown with brambles, through which we soon 
discovered that it would have been impossible to force 
our way but for the scythe; and Jupiter, by direction of 
his master, proceeded to clear for us a path to the foot 
of an immensely large tulip-tree, which stood, with some 
eight or ten oaks, upon the level, and far surpassed them 
all, and all other trees which I had then ever seen, in 
the beauty of its foliage and form, in the wide spread of 
its branches, and in the general majesty of its appear- 
ance. When we reached this tree, Legrand turned to 
Jupiter, and asked him if he thought he could climb it. 
The old man seemed a little staggered by the question, 
and for some moments made no reply. At length he ap- 
proached the huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and 
examined it with minute attention. When he had com- 
pleted his scrutiny, he merely said: 

"Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he 
life." 

"Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon 
be too dark to see what we are about." 

"How far mus go up, massa ?" inquired Jupiter. 

"Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you 
which way to go — and here — stop ! take tins beetle with 
you." 



250 THE SHORT STORY 

"De bug, Massa Will ! — de goole-bug !" cried the negro, 
drawing back in dismay — "what for mus tote de bug way 
up de tree? — d — n if I do!" 

"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to 
take hold of a harmless little dead beetle, why, you can 
carry it up by this string — but, if you do not take it up ' 
with you in some way, I shall be under the necessity of 
breaking your head with this shovel." 

"What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently t 
shamed into compliance; "always want fur to raise fuss 
wid old nigger. Was only funnin anyhow. Me feered de 
bug! what I keer for de bug?" Here he took cautiously 
hold of the extreme end of the string, and, maintaining the 
insect as far from his person as circumstances would per- 
mit, prepared to ascend the tree. 

In youth, the tulip-tree, or Liriodendron Tulipifera, the 
most magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk pecu- | 
liarly smooth, and often rises to a great height without 
lateral branches; but, in its riper age the bark becomes ' 
gnarled and uneven while many short limbs make their 
apearance on the stem. Thus the difficulty of ascension, 
in the present case, lay more in semblance than in reality. 
Embracing the huge cylinder, as closely as possible, with 
his arms and knees, seizing with his hands some projec- 
tions, and resting his naked toes upon others, Jupiter, after 
one or two narrow escapes from falling, at length wriggled 
himself into the first great fork, and seemed to consider the 
whole business as virtually accomplished. The risk of the 
achievement was, in fact, now over, although the climber ' 
was some sixty or seventy feet from the ground. 

"Which way mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked. 

"Keep up the largest branch, — the one on this side," 
said Legrand. The negro obeyed him promptly, and ap- 
parently with but little trouble, ascending higher and 



THE GOLD-BUG 251 

higher, until no glimpse of his squat figure could be obtained 
through the dense foliage which enveloped it. Presently 
his voice was heard in a sort of halloo. 

"How much fudder is got for go?-' 

"How high up are you?" asked Legrand. 

"Ebber so fur/' replied the negro; "can see de sky fru 
de top ob de tree." 

"Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look 
down the trunk and count the limbs below you on this 
side. How many limbs have you passed?" 

"One, two, tree, four, fibe — I done pass fibe big limb, 
massa, pon dis side." 

"Then go one limb higher." 

In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing 
that the seventh limb was attained. 

"Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I 
want you to work your way out upon that limb as far as 
you can. If you see anything strange, let me know." 

By this time what little doubt I might have entertained 
of my poor friend's insanity was put finally at rest. I 
had no alternative but to conclude him stricken with lunacy, 
and I became seriously anxious about getting him home. 
While I was pondering upon what was best to be done, 
Jupiter's voice was again heard. 

"Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far — 'tis 
dead limb putty much all de way." 

"Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Le- 
grand in a quavering voice. 

"Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail — done up for 
sartain — done departed dis here life." 

"What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Le- 
grand, seemingly in the greatest distress. 

"Do !" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a 
word, "why come home and go to bed. Come now ! — that's 



252 THE SHOET STORY 

a fine fellow. It's getting late, and, besides, you remem- 
ber your promise." 

"Jupiter/' cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do 
you hear me?" 

"Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain." 

"Try the wood well, then, with your knife, and see if 
you think it very rotten." 

"Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro in a 
few moments, "but not so berry rotten as mought be. 
Mought ventur out leetle way pon de limb by myself, dat's 
true." 

"By yourself! — what do you mean?" 

"Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis berry hebby bug. Spose I 
drop him down fuss, and den de limb won't break wid 
just de weight ob one nigger." 

"You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently 
much relieved, "what do you mean by telling me such 
nonsense as that? As sure as you let that beetle fall, I'll 
break your neck. Look here, Jupiter! do you hear me?" 

"Yes, massa, needn't hollo at poor nigger dat style." 

"Well! now listen! — if you will venture out on the 
limb as far as you think safe, and not let go the beetle, 
I'll make you a present of a silver dollar as soon as you 
get down." 

"I'm gwine, Massa Will — deed I is," replied the negro 
very promptly — "most out to the eend now." 

"Out to the end!" here fairly screamed Legrand, "do 
you say you are out to the end of that limb?" 

"Soon be to de eend, massa, — o-o-o-o-oh! Lorgol-a- 
marcy! what is dis here pon de tree?" 

"Well!" cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?" 

"Why, taint nuffin but a skull — somebody bin lef him 
head up de tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob 
de meat off." 



THE GOLD-BUG 253 

"A skull, you say! — very well! — how is it fastened to 
the limb? — what holds it on?" 

"Sure nuff, massa ; mus look. Why, dis berry curous sar- 
cumstance, pon my word — dare's a great big nail in de 
skull, what fastens ob it on to de tree." 

"Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you — do you 
hear?" 

"Yes, massa." 

"Pay attention, then! — find the left eye of the skull." 

"Hum ! hoo ! dat's good ! why, dar aint no eye lef at all." 

"Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand 
from your left?" 

"Yes, I nose dat — nose all bout dat — 'tis my lef hand 
what I chops de wood wid." 

"To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye 
is on the same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose 
you can find the left eye of the skull, or the place where 
the left eye has been. Have you found it?" 

Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked, "Is 
de lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of 
de skull, too? — cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a 
hand at all — nebber mind ! I got de lef eye now — here 
de lef eye! what must do wid it?" 

"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will 
reach — but be careful and not let go your hold of the 
string." 

"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de 
bug fru de hole — look out for him dar below !" 

During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could 
be seen; but the beetle, which he had suffered to descend, 
was now visible at the end of the string, and glistened like 
a globe of burnished gold in the last rays of the setting 
sun, some of which still faintly illumined the eminence 
upon which we stood. The scarabceus hung quite clear of 



254 THE SHORT STORY 

any branches, and, if allowed to fall, would have fallen 
at our feet. Legrand immediately took the scythe, and 
cleared with it a circular space, three or four yards in 
diameter, just beneath the insect, and, having accomplished 
this, ordered Jupiter to let go the string and come down 
from the tree. 

Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground at the 
precise spot where the beetle fell, my friend now pro- 
duced from his pocket a tape-measure. Fastening one end 
of this at that point of the trunk of the tree which was 
nearest the peg, he unrolled it till it reached the peg, and 
thence farther unrolled it, in the direction already estab- 
lished by the two points of the tree and the peg, for the 
distance of fifty feet — Jupiter clearing away the brambles 
with the scythe. At the spot thus attained a second peg 
was driven, and about this, as a centre, a rude circle, about 
four feet in diameter, described. Taking now a spade him- 
self, and giving one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand 
begged us to set about digging as quickly as possible. 

To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for such 
amusement at any time, and, at that particular moment, 
would most willingly have declined it; for the night was 
coming on, and I felt much fatigued with the exercise 
already taken; but I saw no mode of escape, and was 
fearful of disturbing my poor friend's equanimity by a 
refusal. Could I have depended, indeed, upon Jupiter's 
aid, I would have had no hesitation in attempting to get 
the lunatic home by force; but I was too well assured 
of the old negro's disposition to hope that he would assist 
me, under any circumstances, in a personal contest with 
his master. I made no doubt that the latter had been 
infected with some of the innumerable Southern supersti- 
tions about money buried, and that his fantasy had received 
confirmation by the finding of the scarabceus, or, perhaps, 



THE GOLD-BUG 255 

by Jupiter's obstinacy in maintaining it to be "a bug of 
real gold." A mind disposed to lunacy would readily be 
led away by such suggestions, especially if chiming in with 
favorite preconceived ideas; and then I called to mind the 
poor fellow's speech about the beetle's being the "index 
of his fortune." Upon the whole, I was sadly vexed and 
puzzled, but at length I concluded to make a virtue of 
necessity — to dig with a good will, and thus the sooner to 
convince the visionary, by ocular demonstration, of the 
fallacy of the opinions he entertained. 

The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with 
a zeal worthy a more rational cause; and, as the glare fell 
upon our persons and implements, I could not help thinking 
how picturesque a group we composed, and how strange 
and suspicious our labors must have appeared to any inter- 
loper who, by chance, might have stumbled upon our 
whereabouts. 

We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; 
and our chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the 
dog, who took exceeding interest in our proceedings. He, 
at length, became so obstreperous that we grew fearful 
of his giving the alarm to some stragglers in the vicinity; 
or, rather, this was the apprehension of Legrand; for 
myself, I should have rejoiced at any interruption which 
might have enabled me to get the wanderer home. The 
noise was, at length, very effectually silenced by Jupiter, 
who, getting out of the hole with a dogged air of delibera- 
tion, tied the brute's mouth up with one of his suspenders, 
and then returned, with a grave chuckle, to his task. 

When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached 
a depth of five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure 
became manifest. A general pause ensued, and I began to 
hope that the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, 
although evidently much disconcerted, wiped his brow 



256 THE SHORT STOEY 

thoughtfully and recommenced. We had excavated the j 
entire circle of four feet diameter, and now we slightly 
enlarged the limit, and went to the farther depth of two 
feet. Still nothing appeared. The gold-seeker, whom I 
sincerely pitied, at length clambered from the pit, with 
the bitterest disappointment imprinted upon every fea- 
ture, and proceeded slowly and reluctantly, to put on his 
coat, which he had thrown off at the beginning of his 
labor. In the meantime I made no remark. Jupiter, at 
a signal from his master, began to gather up his tools. 
This done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we turned 
in profound silence towards home. 

We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, 
when, with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, 
and seized him by the collar. The astonished negro 
opened his eyes and mouth to the fullest extent, let fall the 
spades, and fell upon his knees. 

"You scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the syl- 
lables from between his clenched teeth — "you infernal black 
villain! — speak, I tell you! — answer me this instant, with- 
out prevarication ! — which — which is your left eye ?" 

"Oh, my golly, Massa Will ! aint dis here my lef eye for 
sartain?" roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand 
upon his right organ of vision, and holding it there with a 
desperate pertinacity, as if in immediate dread of his 
master's attempt at a gouge. 

"I thought so! I knew it! Hurrah!" vociferated Le- 
grand, letting the negro go, and executing a series of 
curvets and caracoles, much to the astonishment of his 
valet, who, arising from his knees, looked mutely from 
his master to myself, and then from myself to his master. 

"Come! we must go back," said the latter, "the game's 
not up yet;" and he again led the way to the tulip-tree. 

"Jupiter," said he., when we reached its foot, "come 



THE GOLD-BUG 257 

here ! Was the skull nailed to the limb with the face out- 
ward, or with the face to the limb?" 

"De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get 
at de eyes good, widout any trouble." 

"Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you 
dropped the beetle?" here Legrand touched each of Jupi- 
ter's eyes. 

" 'Twas dis eye, Massa — de lef eye — jis as you tell me," 
and here it was his right eye that the negro indicated. 

"That will do — we must try it again." 

Here, my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or 
fancied that I saw, certain indications of method, removed 
the peg which marked the spot where the beetle fell, to a 
spot about three inches to the westward of its former 
position. Taking, now, the tape-measure from the nearest 
point of the trunk to the peg, as before, and continuing 
the extension in a straight line to the distance of fifty 
feet, a spot was indicated, removed, by several yards, from 
the point at which we had been digging. 

Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than 
in the former instance, was now described, and we again 
set to work with the spades. I was dreadfully weary, 
but, scarcely understanding what had occasioned the 
change in my thoughts, I felt no longer any great aver- 
sion from the labor imposed. I had become most un- 
accountably interested — nay, even excited. Perhaps there 
was something, amid all the extravagant demeanor of 
Legrand — some air of forethought, or of deliberation — 
which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now and then 
caught myself actually looking, with something that very 
much resembled expectation, for the fancied treasure, the 
vision of which had demented my unfortunate companion. 
At a period when such vagaries of thought most fully 
possessed me, and when we had been at work perhaps an 



258 THE SHORT STORY 

hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the violent 
howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the first instance, 
had been evidently but the result of playfulness or caprice, 
but he now assumed a bitter and serious tone. Upon Jupi- 
ter's again attempting to muzzle him, he made furious 
resistance, and, leaping into the hole, tore up the mould 
frantically with his claws. In a few seconds he had 
uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two complete 
skeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal, and 
what appeared to be the dust of decayed woollen. One 
or two strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a large 
Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four loose 
pieces of gold and silver coin came to light. 

At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be 
restrained, but the countenance of his master wore an air 
of extreme disappointment. He urged us, however, to con- 
tinue our exertions, and the words were hardly uttered 
when I stumbled and fell forward, having caught the toe 
of my boot in a large ring of iron that lay half buried 
in the loose earth. 

We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten min- 
utes of more intense excitement. During this interval we 
had fairly unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which, from 
its perfect preservation and wonderful hardness, had 
plainly been subjected to some mineralizing process — per- 
haps that of the bichloride of mercury. This box was three 
feet and a half long, three feet broad, and two and a half 
feet deep. It was firmly secured by bands of wrought 
iron, riveted, and forming a kind of trellis-work over the 
whole. On each side of the chest, near the top, were three 
rings of iron — six in all — by means of which a firm hold 
could be obtained by six persons. Our utmost united 
endeavors served only to disturb the coffer very slightly in 
its bed. We at once saw the impossibility of removing so 



THE GOLD-BUG 259 

great a weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of the lid 
consisted of two sliding bolts. These we drew back — trem- 
bling and panting with anxiety. In an instant, a treas- 
ure of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the 
rays of the lanterns fell within the pit, there flashed up- 
wards, from a confused heap of gold and of jewels, a 
glow and a glare that absolutely dazzled our eyes. 

I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which 
I gazed. Amazement was, of course, predominant. Le- 
grand appeared exhausted with excitement, and spoke very 
few words. Jupiter's countenance wore, for some minutes, 
as deadly a pallor as it is possible, in the nature of things, 
for any negro's visage to assume. He seemed stupefied — 
thunder-stricken. Presently he fell upon his knees in the 
pit, and, burying his naked arms up to the elbows in gold, 
let them there remain, as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. 
At length, with a deep sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a 
soliloquy : 

"And dis all cum ob de goole-bug ! de putty goole-bug ! 
de poor little goole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind 
ob style! Aint you shamed ob yourself, nigger? — answer 
me dat!" 

It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both 
master and valet to the expediency of removing the treas- 
ure. It was growing late, and it behooved us to make 
exertion, that we might get everything housed before day- 
light. It was difficult to say what should be done, and 
much time was spent in deliberation — so confused were 
the ideas of all. We finally lightened the box by removing 
two-thirds of its contents, when we were enabled, with some 
trouble, to raise it from the hole. The articles taken out 
were deposited among the brambles, and the dog left to 
guard them, with strict orders from Jupiter neither, upon 
any pretence, to stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth 



260 THE SHORT STORY 

until our return. We then hurriedly made for home with 
the chest; reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive 
toil, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we were, 
it was not in human nature to do more just now. We rested 
until two, and had supper; starting for the hills imme- 
diately afterwards, armed with three stout sacks, which by 
good luck were upon the premises. A little before four 
we arrived at the pit, divided the remainder of the booty, 
as equally as might be, among us, and, leaving the holes 
unfilled, again set out for the hut, at which, for the second 
time, we deposited our golden burdens, just as the first 
streaks of the dawn gleamed from over the tree-tops in the 
east. 

We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense 
excitement of the time denied us repose. After an unquiet 
slumber of some three or four hours' duration, we arose, 
as if by preconcert, to make examination of our treasure. 

The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the 
whole day, and the greater part of the next night, in a 
scrutiny of its contents. There had been nothing like order 
or arrangement. Everything had been heaped in promiscu- 
ously. Having assorted all with care, we found ourselves 
possessed of even vaster wealth than we had at first sup- 
posed. In coin there was rather more than four hundred 
and fifty thousand dollars — estimating the value of the 
pieces, as accurately as we could, by the tables of the 
period. There was not a particle of silver. All was gold 
of antique date and of great variety: French, Spanish, 
and German money, with a few English guineas, and some 
counters of which we had never , seen specimens before. 
There were several very large and heavy coins, so worn 
that we could make nothing of their inscriptions. There 
was no American money. The value of the jewels we 

estimating. There were dia- 



THE GOLD-BUG 261 

monds — some of them exceedingly large and fine — a hun- 
dred and ten in all, and not one of them small; eighteen 
rubies of remarkable brilliancy; three hundred and ten 
emeralds, all very beautiful; and twenty-one sapphires, 
with an opal. These stones had all been broken from 
their settings and thrown loose in the chest. The set- 
tings themselves, which we picked out from among the 
other gold, appeared to have been beaten up with hammers, 
as if to prevent identification. Besides all this, there was 
a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments: nearly two hun- 
dred massive finger and ear-rings; rich chains — thirty of 
these, if I remember; eighty-three very large and heavy 
crucifixes; five gold censers of great value; a prodigious 
golden punch-bowl, ornamented with richly chased vine- 
leaves and Bacchanalian figures; with two sword-handles 
exquisitely embossed, and many other smaller articles which 
I cannot recollect. The weight of these valuables exceeded 
three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois ; and in this 
estimate I have not included one hundred and ninety-seven 
superb gold watches; three of the number being worth 
each five hundred dollars, if one. Many of them were very 
old, and as time-keepers valueless, the works having suf- 
fered more or less from corrosion; but all were richly jew- 
elled and in cases of great worth. We estimated the entire 
contents of the chest, that night, at a million and a half of 
dollars; and, upon the subsequent disposal of the trinkets 
and jewels (a few being retained for our own use), it 
was found that we had greatly undervalued the treasure. 
When, at length, we had concluded our examination, 
and the intense excitement of the time had in some measure 
subsided, Legrand, who saw that I was dying with impa- 
tience for a solution of this most extraordinary riddle, 
entered into a full detail of all the circumstances connected 
with it. 



262 THE SHOET STORY 

"You remember/' said he, "the night when I handed 
you the rough sketch I had made of the scarabceus. You 
recollect, also, that I became quite vexed at you for insist- 
ing that my drawing resembled a death's-head. When you 
first made this assertion I thought you were jesting; but 
afterwards I called to mind the peculiar spots on the back 
of the insect, and admitted to myself that your remark had 
some little foundation in fact. Still, the sneer at my 
•graphic powers irritated me — for I am considered a good 
artist — and, therefore, when you handed me the scrap of 
parchment, I was about to crumple it up and throw it 
angrily into the fire." 

"The scrap of paper, you mean," said I. 

"No: it had much of the appearance of paper, and at 
first I supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw 
upon it, I discovered it, at once, to be a piece of very thin 
parchment. It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I 
was in the very act of crumpling it up, my glance fell upon 
the sketch at which you had been looking, and you may 
imagine my astonishment when I perceived, in fact, the 
figure of a death's head just where, it seemed to me, I 
had made the drawing of the beetle. For a moment I was 
too much amazed to think with accuracy. I knew that my 
design was very different in detail from this — although 
there was a certain similarity in general outline. Pres- 
ently I took a candle, and, seating myself at the other end 
of the room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more 
closely. Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon 
the reverse, just as I had made it. My first idea, now, 
was mere surprise at the really remarkable similarity of 
outline — at the singular coincidence involved in the fact 
that, unknown to me, there should have been a skull upon 
the other side of the parchment, immediately beneath my 
figure of the scarabceus, and that this skull, not only in 



THE GOLD-BUG 263 

outline, but in size, should so closely resemble ray drawing. 
I say the singularity of this coincidence absolutely stupe- 
fied me for a time. This is the usual effect of such coinci- 
dences. The mind struggles to establish a connection — a 
sequence of cause and effect — and, being unable to do so, 
suffers a species of temporary paralysis. But, when I 
recovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me gradu- 
ally a conviction which startled me even far more than 
the coincidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember 
that there had been no drawing on the parchment when 
I made my sketch of the scarabceus. I became perfectly 
certain of this; for I recollected turning up first one side 
and then the other, in search of the cleanest spot. Had 
the skull been then there, of course I could not have failed 
to notice it. Here was indeed a mystery which I felt it 
impossible to explain ; but, even at that early moment, there 
seemed to glimmer, faintly, within the most remote and 
secret chambers of my intellect, a glow-worm-like concep- 
tion of that truth which last night's adventure brought to 
so magnificent a demonstration. I arose at once, and, put- 
ting the parchment securely away, dismissed all farther 
reflection until I should be alone. 

"When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, 
I betook myself to a more methodical investigation of 
the affair. In the first place I considered the manner in 
which the parchment had come into my possession. The 
spot where we discovered the scarabceus was on the coast 
of the mainland, about a mile eastward of the island, and 
but a short distance above high-water mark. Upon my 
taking hold of it, it gave me a sharp bite, which caused me 
to let it drop. Jupiter, with his accustomed caution, before 
seizing the insect, which had flown towards him, looked 
about him for a leaf, or something of that nature, by which 
to take hold of it. It was at this moment that his eyes, 



264 THE SHORT STORY 

and mine also, fell upon the scrap of parchment, which 
I then supposed to be paper. It was lying half-buried in 
the sand, a corner sticking up. Near the spot where we 
found it, I observed the remnants of the hull of what 
appeared to have been a ship's long boat. The wreck 
seemed to have been there for a very great while; for the 
resemblance to boat timbers could scarcely be traced. 

"Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the 
beetle in it, and gave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned 

to go home, and on the way met Lieutenant G . I 

showed him the insect, and he begged me to let him take 
it to the fort. On my consenting, he thrust it forthwith 
into his waistcoat pocket, without the parchment in which 
it had been wrapped, and which I had continued to hold in 
my hand during his inspection. Perhaps he dreaded my 
changing my mind, and thought it best to make sure of the 
prize at once — you know how enthusiastic he is on all 
subjects connected with Natural History. At the same 
time, without being conscious of it, I must have deposited 
the parchment in my own pocket. 

"You remember that when I went to the table, for the 
purpose of making a sketch of the beetle, I found no 
paper where it was usually kept. I looked in the drawer, 
and found none there. I searched my pockets, hoping to 
find an old letter, and then my hand fell upon the parch- 
ment. I thus detail the precise mode in which it came into 
my possession; for the circumstances impressed me with 
peculiar force. 

"No doubt you will think me fanciful — but I had already 
established a kind of connection. I had put together two 
links of a great chain. There was a boat lying on a sea- 
coast, and not far from the boat was a parchment — not a 
paper — with a skull depicted on it. You will, of course, 
ask 'where is the connection?' I reply that the skull, or 



THE GOLD-BUG 265 

death's-head, is the well-known emblem of the pirate. The 
flag of the death's-head is hoisted in all engagements. 

"I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not 
paper. Parchment is durable — almost imperishable. Mat- 
ters of little moment are rarely consigned to parchment; 
since, for the mere ordinary purposes of drawing or writ- 
ing, it is not nearly so well adapted as paper. This 
reflection suggested some meaning — some relevancy — in the 
death's-head. I did not fail to observe, also, the form of 
the parchment. Although one of its corners had been, 
by some accident, destroyed, it could be seen. that the orig- 
inal form was oblong. It was just such a slip, indeed, as 
might have been chosen for a memorandum — for a record 
of something to be long remembered and carefully pre- 
served." 

"But," I interposed, "you say that the skull was not 
upon the parchment when you made the drawing of the 
beetle. How then do you trace any connection between 
the boat and the skull — since this latter, according to your 
own admission, must have been designed (God only knows 
how or by whom) at some period subsequent to your 
sketching the scarabceus?" 

"Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery; although the 
secret, at this point, I had comparatively little difficulty 
in solving. My steps were sure, and could afford but a 
single result. I reasoned, for example, thus : When I drew 
the scarabceus, there was no skull apparent on the parch- 
ment. When I had completed the drawing I gave it to 
you, and observed you narrowly until you returned it. 
You, therefore, did not design the skull, and no one else was 
present to do it. Then it was not done by human agency. 
And nevertheless it was done. 

"At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remem- 
ber, and did remember, with entire distinctness, every 



266 THE SHOKT STORY 

incident which occurred about the period in question. The 
weather was chilly (O rare and happy accident!), and a 
fire was blazing on the hearth. I was heated with exercise 
and sat near the table. You, however, had drawn a chair 
close to the chimney. Just as I placed the parchment in 
your hand, and as you were in the act of inspecting it, 
Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, and leaped upon your 
shoulders. With your left hand you caressed him and kept 
him off, while your right, holding the parchment, was 
permitted to fall listlessly between your knees, and in 
close proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought the 
blaze had caught it, and was about to caution you, but, 
before I could speak, you had withdrawn it, and were 
engaged in its examination. When I considered all these 
particulars, I doubted not for a moment that heat had been 
the agent in bringing to light, on the parchment, the skull 
which I saw designed on it. You are well aware that 
chemical preparations exist, and have existed time out of 
mind, by means of which it is possible to write on either 
paper or vellum, so that the characters shall become visible 
only when subjected to the action of fire. Zaffre digested 
in aqua regia, and diluted with four times its weight of 
water, is sometimes employed; a green tint results. The 
regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. 
These colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals after 
the material written upon cools, but again become apparent 
upon the reapplication of heat. 

"I now scrutinized the death's-head with care. Its outer 
edges — the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the 
vellum — were far more distinct than the others. It was 
clear that the action of the caloric had been imperfect or 
unequal. I immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every 
portion of the parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the 
only effect was the strengthening of the faint lines in the 



THE GOLD-BUG 267 

skull; but, on persevering in the experiment, there became 
visible at the corner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the 
spot in which the death's-head was delineated, the figure 
of what I at first supposed to be a goat. A closer scrutiny, 
however, satisfied me that it was intended for a kid." 

"Ha! ha!" said I, "to be sure I have no right to laugh 
at you — a million and a half of money is too serious a 
matter for mirth — but you are not about to establish a third 
link in your chain : you will not find any especial connection 
between your pirates and a goat; pirates, you know, have 
nothing to do with goats; they appertain to the farming 
interest." 

"But I have just said that the figure was not that of 
a goat." 

"Well, a kid, then — pretty much the same thing." 

"Pretty much, but not altogether," said Legrand. "You 
may have heard of one Captain Kidd. I at once looked 
on the figure of the animal as a kind of punning or hiero- 
glyphical signature. I say signature, because its position 
on the vellum suggested this idea. The death's-head at 
the corner diagonally opposite had, in the same manner, 
the air of a stamp, or seal. But I was sorely put out by 
the absence of all else — of the body to my imagined instru- 
ment — of the text for my context." 

"I presume you expected to find a letter between the 
stamp and the signature." 

"Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly 
impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune 
impending. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, 
it was rather a desire than an actual belief; — but do you 
know that Jupiter's silly words, about the bug being of 
solid gold, had a remarkable effect on my fancy? And then 
the series of accidents and coincidences — these were so 
very extraordinary. Do you observe how mere an accident 



268 THE SHOET STOEY 

it was that these events should have occurred on the sole 
day of all the year in which it has been, or may be, suffi- 
ciently cool for fire, and that without the fire, or without 
the intervention of the dog at the precise moment in which 
he appeared, I should never have become aware of the 
death's-head, and so never the possessor of the treasure?" 

"But proceed — I am all impatience." 

"Well; you have heard, of course, the many stories 
current — the thousand vague rumors afloat about money 
buried, somewhere on the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his 
associates. These rumors must have had some foundation 
in fact. And that the rumors have existed so long and so 
continuously, could have resulted, it appeared to me, only 
from the circumstance of the buried treasure still remaining 
entombed. Had Kidd concealed his plunder for a time, and 
afterwards reclaimed it, the rumors would scarcely have 
reached us in their present unvarying form. You will 
observe that the stories told are all about money-seekers, 
not about money-finders. Had the pirate recovered his 
money, there the affair would have dropped. It seemed 
to me that some accident — say the loss of a memorandum 
indicating its locality — had deprived him of the means of 
recovering it, and that this accident had become known 
to his followers, who otherwise might never have heard 
that treasure had been concealed at all, and who, busying 
themselves in vain, because unguided, attempts to regain 
it, had given first birth, and then universal currency, to the 
reports which are now so common. Have you ever heard 
of any important treasure being unearthed along the coast?" 

"Never." 

"But that Kidd's accumulations were immense is well 
known. I took it for granted, therefore, that the earth 
still held them; and you will scarcely be surprised when 
I tell you that I felt a hope, nearly amounting to certainty, 



THE GOLD-BUG 269 

that the parchment so strangely found involved a lost 
record of the place of deposit." 

"But how did you proceed?" 

"I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the 
heat, but nothing appeared. I now thought it possible 
that the coating of dirt might have something to do with 
the failure ; so I carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring 
warm water over it, and, having done this, I placed it in 
a tin pan, with the skull downwards, and put the pan upon 
a furnace of lighted charcoal. In a few minutes, the pan 
having become thoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and, 
to my inexpressible joy, found it spotted, in several places, 
with what appeared to be figures arranged in lines. Again 
I placed it in the pan, and suffered it to remain another 
minute. Upon taking it off, the whole was just as you see 
it now." 

Here, Legrand, having reheated the parchment, submitted 
it to my inspection. The following characters were rudely 
traced, in a red tint, between the death's-head and the 
goat : — 

53tlfS05))6*;4826)4t.)4t);806*;48f8%0))85;;]8*;: 

J*8t8s'(88)5*t;46(;88*96*?;8)*t(;485);5*t2:*t(;4956* 

2(5*— 4)8H8*;4069285);)6t8)4t{;l(t9;48081;8:8tl;48f 

85;4)485|528806- 3f 81(t9;48;(88;4(]:?34;48)4t;161;:188; 

t?. 

"But," said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in 
the dark as ever. Were all the jewels of Golconda awaiting 
me on my solution of this enigma, I am quite sure that I 
should be unable to earn them." 

"And yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means 
so difficult as you might be led to imagine from the first 
hasty inspection of the characters. These characters, as 
any one might readily guess, form a cipher — that is to say, 



270 THE SHORT STORY 

they convey a meaning; but then, from what is known 
of Kidd, I could not suppose him capable of constructing 
any of the more abstruse cryptographs. I made up my 
mind, at once, that this was of a simple species — such, 
however, as would appear, to the crude intellect of the 
sailor, absolutely insoluble without the key." 

"And you really solved it?" 

"Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten 
thousand times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias 
of mind, have led me to take interest in such riddles, and 
it may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can con- 
struct an enigma of the kind which human ingenuity may 
not, by proper application, resolve. In fact, having once 
established connected and legible characters, I scarcely 
gave a thought to the mere difficulty of developing their 
import. 

"In the present case — indeed in all cases of secret writing 
— the first question regards the language of the cipher ; for 
the principles of solution, so far, especially, as the more 
simple ciphers are concerned, depend on, and are varied 
by, the genius of the particular idiom. In general, there 
is no alternative but experiment (directed by probabilities) 
of every tongue known to him who attempts the solution, 
until the true one be attained. But, with the cipher now 
before us, all difficulty is removed by the signature. The 
pun upon the word 'Kidd' is appreciable in no other 
language than the English. But for this consideration I 
should have begun my attempts with the Spanish and 
French, as the tongues in which a secret of this kind would 
most naturally have been written by a pirate of the Spanish 
Main. 1 As it was, I assumed the cryptograph to be 
English. 

(1) Spanish Main: the Caribbean Sea, frequented by the Spanish 
ships going to the colonies of Spain in South America. 



THE GOLD-BUG 271 

"You observe there are no divisions between the words. 
Had there been divisions, the task would have been com- 
paratively easy. In such case I should have commenced 
with a collation and analysis of the shorter words, and, 
had a word of a single letter occurred, as is most likely 
(a or I, for example), I should have considered the solution 
as assured. But, there being no division, my first step was 
to ascertain the predominant letters, as well as the least 
frequent. Counting all, I constructed a table, thus: 



Of the character 8 th 


sre 


are 33 


3 


" 


26 


4 


i< 


19 


t) 


tt 


16 


* 


(( 


13 


5 


" 


12 


6 


it 


11 


u 


<< 


8 





<< 


6 


92 


<< 


5 


:3 


<< 


4 


? 


" 


3 


11 


" 


2 


]-• 


«< 


1 



"Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs 
is e. Afterwards the succession runs thus : a o i dhnr s t 
uycfglmwbkpqxz. E predominates, however, so re- 
markably that an individual sentence of any length is 
rarely seen, in which it is not the prevailing character. 

"Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the ground- 
work for something more than a mere guess. The general 
use which may be made of the table is obvious — but, in this 
particular cipher, we shall only very partially require its 
aid. As our predominant character is 8, we will commence 



272 THE SHORT STORY 

by assuming it as the e of the natural alphabet. To verify 
the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen often in 
couples — for e is doubled with great frequency in English 
— in such words, for example, as 'meet/ 'fleet/ 'speed/ 
'seen/ 'been/ 'agree/ etc. In the present instance we see 
it doubled no less than five times, although the cryptograph 
is brief. 

"Let us assume 8, then, as e. Now of all words in the 
language, 'the' is most usual; let us see, therefore, whether 
there are not repetitions of any three characters, in the 
same order of collocation, the last of them being 8. If we 
discover repetitions of such letters, so arranged, they will 
most probably represent the word 'the.' On inspection, we 
find no less than seven such arrangements, the characters 
being ;48. We may, therefore, assume that the semicolon 
represents t, that 4 represents h, and that 8 represents e — 
the last being now well confirmed. Thus a great step has 
been taken. 

"But, having established a single word, we are enabled 
to establish a vastly important point ; that is to say, several 
commencements and terminations of other words. Let us 
refer, for example, to the last instance but one, in which 
the combination ;48 occurs — not far from the end of the 
cipher. We know that the semicolon immediately ensuing 
is the commencement of a word, and, of the six characters 
succeeding this 'the/ we are cognizant of no less than five. 
Let us set these characters down, thus, by the letters we 
know them to represent, leaving a space for the unknown — 

t eeth. 

"Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the 'th/ as 
forming no portion of the word commencing with the first t; 
since, by experiment of the entire alphabet for a letter 
adapted to the vacancy, we perceive that no word can be 



THE GOLD-BUG 273 

formed of which this th can be a part. We are thus nar- 
rowed into 

t ee, 

and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we 
arrive at the word 'tree' as the sole possible reading. We 
thus gain another letter, r, represented by (, with the words 
'the tree' in juxtaposition. 

"Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we 
again see the combination ;48, and employ it by way of 
termination to what immediately precedes. We have thus 
this arrangement: 

the tree ;4(t?34 the, 

or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads 
thus : 

the tree thr J ?3h the. 

"Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave 
blank spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus: 

the tree thr . . . h the, 

when the word 'through 3 makes itself evident at once. But 
this discovery gives us three new letters, o, u, and g, repre- 
sented by \, ? and 3. 

"Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for com- 
binations of known characters, we find, not very far from 
the beginning, this arrangement: 

83(88, or egree, 

which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word 'degree,' and 
gives us another letter, d, represented by f . 

"Four letters beyond the word 'degree,' we perceive the 
combination 

;46(;88* 



274 



THE SHOKT STOEY 



"Translating the known characters, and representing the 
unknown by dots, as before, we read thus: 

th . rtee. 

an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word 
'thirteen,' and again furnishing us with two new characters, 
* and n, represented by 6 and *. 

"Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, 
we find the combination, 

sstit- 

"Translating as before, we obtain 

good, 

which assures us that the first letter is A, and that the 
first two words are 'A good.' 

"To avoid confusion, it is now time that we arrange our 
key, as far as discovered, in a tabular form. It will stand 
thus: 

represents 



"We have, therefore, no less than ten of the most im- 
portant letters represented, and it will be unnecessary to 
proceed with the details of the solution. I have said 
enough to convince you that ciphers of this nature are 



THE GOLD-BUG 275 

readily soluble, and to give you some insight into the 
rationale of their development. But be assured that the 
specimen before us appertains to the very simplest species 
of cryptograph. It now only remains to give you the full 
translation of the characters upon the parchment, as unrid- 
dled. Here it is : 

" 'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat 
twenty one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast and by 
north main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the 
left eye of the death's-head a bee line from the tree through 
the shot fifty feet out.' " 

"But/' said I, "the enigma seems still in as bad a condi 
tion as ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from 
all this jargon about 'devil's seats/ 'death's-head/ and 
'bishop's hostel' ?" 

"I confess," replied Legrand, "that the matter still 
wears a serious aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. 
My first endeavor was to divide the sentence into the nat- 
ural division intended by the cryptographist." 

"You mean, to punctuate it?" 

"Something of that kind." 

"But how is it possible to effect this ?" 

"I reflected that it had been a point with the writer 
to run his words together without division, so as to increase 
the difficulty of solution. Now, a not over-acute man, in 
pursuing such an object, would be nearly certain to overdo 
the matter. When, in the course of his composition, he 
arrived at a break in his subject which would naturally 
require a pause, or a point, he would be exceedingly apt to 
run his characters, at this place, more than usually close 
together. If you will observe the MS., in the present in- 
stance, you will easily detect five such cases of unusual 
crowding. Acting on this hint, I made the division thus: 

" ( A good glass in the Bishop's hostel in the devil's seat 



276 THE SHOET STORY 

— twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes — northeast and 
by north — main branch seventh limb east side — shoot from 
the left eye of the death's-head — a bee-line from the tree 
through the shot fifty feet out.' " 

"Even this division/' said I, "leaves me still in the 
dark." 

"It left me also in the dark/' replied Legrand, "for a 
few days; during which I made diligent inquiry, in the 
neighborhood of Sullivan's Island, for any building which 
went by the name of the 'Bishop's Hotel' ; for, of course, I 
dropped the obsolete word 'hostel.' Gaining no informa- 
tion on the subject, I was on the point of extending my 
sphere of search, and proceeding in a more systematic man- 
ner, when one morning it entered into my head, quite sud- 
denly, that this 'Bishop's Hostel' might have some ref- 
erence to an old family, of the name of Bessop, which, time 
out of mind, had held possession of an ancient manor- 
house, about four miles to the northward of the island. I 
accordingly went over to the plantation, and reinstituted 
my inquiries among the older negroes of the place. At 
length one of the most aged of the women said that she 
had heard of such a place as Bessop's Castle, and thought 
that she could guide me to it, but that it was not a castle, 
nor a tavern, but a high rock. 

"I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some 
demur, she consented to accompany me to the spot. We 
found it without much difficulty, when, dismissing her, I 
proceeded to examine the place. The 'castle' consisted of 
an irregular assemblage of cliffs and rocks — one of the 
latter being quite remarkable for its height as well as for 
its insulated and artificial appearance. I clambered to its 
apex, and then felt much at a loss as to what should be 
next done. 



THE GOLD-BUG 277 

"While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell on a 
narrow ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a 
yard below the summit upon which I stood. This ledge 
projected about eighteen inches, and was not more than 
a foot wide, while a niche in the cliff just above it gave it 
a rude resemblance to one of the hollow-backed chairs used 
by our ancestors. I made no doubt that here was the 
'devil's seat' alluded to in the MS., and now I seemed to 
grasp the full secret of the riddle. 

"The 'good glass/ I knew, could have reference to noth- 
ing but a telescope; for the word 'glass' is rarely employed 
in any other sense by seamen. Now here, I at once saw, 
was a telescope to be used, and a definite point of view, 
admitting no variation, from which to use it. Nor did I 
hesitate to believe that the phrases 'twenty-one degrees and 
thirteen minutes,' and 'north-east and by north,' were in- 
tended as directions for the levelling of the glass. Greatly 
excited by these discoveries, I hurried home, procured a 
telescope, and returned to the rock. 

"I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was 
impossible to retain a seat on it unless in one particular 
position. This fact confirmed my preconceived idea. I 
proceeded to use the glass. Of course, the 'twenty-one 
degrees and thirteen minutes' could allude to nothing but 
elevation above the visible horizon, since the horizontal 
direction was clearly indicated by the words, 'north-east 
and by north.' This latter direction I at once established 
by means of a pocket-compass; then, pointing the glass 
as nearly at an angle of twenty-one degrees of elevation as 
I could do it by guess, I moved it cautiously up or down, 
until my attention was arrested by a circular rift or open- 
ing in the foliage of a large tree that overtopped its fel- 
lows in the distance. In the centre of this rift I perceived 



278 



THE SHORT STORY 



a white spot, but could not, at first, distinguish what it was. 
Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again looked, anc 
now made it out to be a human skull. 

"On this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider tin 
enigma solved; for the phrase 'main branch, seventh limb, 
east side/ could refer only to the position of the skull 01 
the tree, while 'shoot from the left eye of the death's-head' 
admitted, also, of but one interpretation, in regard to 
search for buried treasure. I perceived that the design was 
to drop a bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that a 
bee-line, or in other words, a straight line, drawn from 
the nearest point of the trunk through 'the shot' (or the 
spot where the bullet fell), and thence extended to a dis- 
tance of fifty feet, would indicate a definite point — and 
beneath this point I thought it at least possible that a de- 
posit of value lay concealed." 

"All this," I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, although 
ingenious, still simple and explicit. When you left the 
Bishop's Hotel, what then?" 

"Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, 
I turned homewards. The instant that I left 'the devil' 
seat,' however, the circular rift vanished; nor could I get 
a glimpse of it afterwards, turn as I would. What seems 
to me the chief ingenuity in this whole business, is the fact 
(for repeated experiment has convinced me it is a fact) 
that the circular opening in question is visible from no other 
attainable point of view than that afforded by the narrow 
ledge on the face of the rock. 

"In this expedition to the 'Bishop's Hotel' I had been 
attended by Jupiter, who had no doubt observed, for some 
weeks past, the abstraction of my demeanor, and tool 
especial care not to leave me alone. But on the next day, 
getting up very early, I contrived to give him the slip, anc 



THE GOLD-BUG 279 

went into the hills in search of the tree. After much toil 
I found it. When I came home at night my valet pro- 
posed to give me a flogging. With the rest of the adventure 
I believe you are as well acquainted as myself." 

"I suppose/' said I, "you missed the spot, in the first 
attempt at digging, through Jupiter's stupidity in letting 
the bug fall through the right instead of through the left 
eye of the skull." 

"Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two 
inches and a half in the /shot' — that is to say, in the posi- 
tion of the peg nearest the tree ; and had the treasure been 
beneath the 'shot,' the error would have been of little 
moment; but the 'shot,' together with the nearest point of 
the tree, were merely two points for the establishment of a 
line of direction; of course the error, however trivial in 
the beginning, increased as we proceeded with the line, and, 
by the time we had gone fifty feet, threw us quite off the 
scent. But for my deep-seated convictions that treasure 
was here somewhere actually buried, we might have had all 
our labor in vain." 

"I presume the fancy of the skull — of letting fall a bullet 
through the skull's eye — was suggested to Kidd by the 
piratical flag. No doubt he felt a kind of poetical con- 
sistency in recovering his money through this ominous in- 
signium." 

"Perhaps so; still, I cannot help thinking that common- 
sense had quite as much to do with the matter as poetical 
consistency. To be visible from the Devil's seat, it was 
necessary that the object, if small, should be white; and 
there is nothing like your human skull for retaining and 
even increasing its whiteness under exposure to all vicis- 
situdes of weather." 

"But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swing- 



280 THE SHOET STOEY 

ing the beetle — how excessively odd ! I was sure you were 
mad. And why did you insist on letting fall the bug, in- 
stead of a bullet, from the skull?" 

"Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your 
evident suspicions touching my sanity, and so resolved to 
punish you quietly, in my own way, by a little bit of sober 
mystification. For this reason I swung the beetle, and for 
this reason I let it fall from the tree. An observation of 
yours about its great weight suggested the latter idea." 

"Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point which 
puzzles me. What are we to make of the skeletons found 
in the hole?" 

"That is a question I am no more able to answer than 
yourself. There seems, however, only one plausible way of 
accounting for them — and yet it is dreadful to believe in 
such atrocity as my suggestion would imply. It is clear 
that Kidd — if Kidd indeed secreted this treasure, which I 
doubt not — it is clear that he must have had assistance in 
the labor. But, the worst of this labor concluded, he may 
have thought it expedient to remove all participants in his 
secret. Perhaps a couple of blows with a mattock were 
sufficient, while his coadjutors were busy in the pit; per- 
haps it required a dozen — who shall tell?" 

editor's note 

In the story of ingenuity the main interest is not in ; 
character nor in setting but in a skillfully-constructed plot. 
The aim of the author is to create a puzzling situation, to 
keep the reader in the dark until the proper time, and then 
to present the solution, which usually proves to be very 
simple after all. In the present story the main interest is 
in the solving of the cryptogram. This interest is greatly 
heightened by having the finding of buried treasure depend 
upon the solution. In addition to this, there are 'several 



THE GOLD-BUG 281 

minor mysteries, so to speak: Legrand's strange actions 
when he first sees the death's-head on the parchment, his 
urgent letter, the night expedition, his strange way of 
speaking about the bug, all contribute to make our interest 
keen. 

In other respects, this story is hardly equal to "The Pit 
and the Pendulum." It is rather slow in beginning, does 
not catch our interest at once as does the former story, and 
the humor, as seen in Jup's mistakes in the use of words, 
is rather forced. But as a story of ingenuity it is hard to 
surpass. 

One form of the story of ingenuity is the detective story, 
and it is worthy of note that Poe was the creator of this 
form. His "Murders in the Rue Morgue" and "The Pur- 
loined Letter" are among the best stories of this type. Sir 
A. Conan Doyle, whose Sherlock Holmes is the detective 
hero of today, admits that he learned his art from Poe. A 
reading of the two authors side by side shows a striking 
resemblance. Poe's detective has a friend through whom 
the stories are told, so Holmes has Dr. Watson. Poe's 
detective has for a foil the Prefect of Police, so Holmes's 
skill is set off against that of the Inspector from Scotland 
Yard. And the analytical methods of Holmes are exactly 
those of M. Dupin, Poe's hero. 

A third form of the story of ingenuity is that which 
states a puzzle and leaves it unsolved. Of this, Stock- 
ton's "The Lady or the Tiger" is the most famous example. 

REPRESENTATIVE STORIES OF INGENUITY 

The Lady or the Tiger? in The Lady or the 

Tiger? Frank R. Stockton 

The Remarkable Wreck of the Thomas Hyke ; in A 

Chosen Few Frank R. Stockton 

Marjorie Daw; in Marjorie Daw T. B. Aldrich 

The Purloined Letter; the Murders in the Rue 
Morgue ; in Prose Tales Edgar Allan Poe 



282 



THE SHOET STORY 



The Red-Headed League; The Adventure of the 

Speckled Band; in Adventures of Sherlock 

Holmes A. Conan Doyh 

The Adventure of the Hansom Cab; The House with 

the Green Blinds; in New Arabian 

Nights R. L. Stevensoi 

The Sending of Dana Da; in In Black and 

White Rudyard Kipling 

The Diamond Lens ; in Poems and 

Stories Fitzj ames O'Briei 

Mrs. Knollys ; in The Sentimental Calendar; also in 

Matthews 's The Short Story F. J. Stimsoi 

Thimble, Thimble; in Options O. Henri 

Friends in San Rosario; A Departmental Case; in 

Roads of Destiny O. Hem 

The £1,000,000 Bank Note; in The American 

Claimant S. L. Clemens 

A Double-Barreled Detective Story; in The Man 

That Corrupted Hadleyburg S. L. Clemens 

The Other Woman; in Gallagher and Other 

Stories R. H. Davis 

The Nice People; A Sisterly Scheme; in Short 

Sixes H. C. Bunnei 



PSYCHOLOGICAL STORY 
MARKHEIM 1 

By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

"Yes," said the dealer, "our windfalls are of various 
kinds. Some customers are ignorant, and then I touch a 
dividend on my superior knowledge. Some are dishonest/' 
and here he held up the candle,* so that the light fell 
strongly on his visitor, "and in that case," he continued, "I 
profit by my virtue." " 

Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, 
and his eyes had not yet grown familiar with the mingled 
shine and darkness in the shop. At these pointed words, 
and before the near presence of the flame, he blinked pain- 
fully and looked aside. 

The dealer chuckled. "You come to me on Christmas- 
day," he resumed, "when you know that I am alone in 
my house, put up my shutters, and make a point of refus- 
ing business. Well, you will have to pay for that; you 
will have to pay for my loss of time, when I should be 
balancing my books; you will have to pay, besides, for a 
kind of manner that I remark in you today very strongly. 
I am the essence of discretion, and ask no awkward ques- 
tions ; but when a customer can not look me in the eye, he 
has to pay for it." The dealer once more chuckled; and 
then, changing to his usual business voice, though still with 
a note of irony, "You can give, as usual, a clear account of 
how you came into the possession of the object?" he con- 

(1) From The Merry Men, published 1887. 

283 



284 THE SHORT STORY 

tinued. "Still your uncle's cabinet? A remarkable col- 
lector, sir!" 

And the little, pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost 
on tip-toe, looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and 
nodding his head with every mark of disbelief. Markheim 
returned his gaze with one of infinite pity, and a touch of 
horror. 

"This time," said he, "you are in error. I have not come 
to sell, but to buy. I have no curios to dispose of; my 
uncle's cabinet is bare to the wainscot; even were it still 
intact, I have done well on the Stock Exchange, and should 
more likely add to it than otherwise, and my errand today 
is simplicity itself. I seek a Christmas-present for a lady," 
he continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the 
speech he had prepared; "and certainly I owe you every 
excuse for thus disturbing you upon so small a matter. But 
the thing was neglected yesterday; I must produce my 
little compliment at dinner; and, as you very well know, a 
rich marriage is not a thing to be neglected." 

There followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed 
to weigh this statement incredulously. The ticking of 
many clocks among the curious lumber of the shop, and 
the faint rushing of the cabs in a near thoroughfare, filled 
up the interval of silence. 

"Well, sir," said the dealer, "be it so. You are an old 
customer after all; and if, as you say, you have the chance 
of a good marriage, far be it from me to be an obstacle. 
Here is a nice thing for a lady now," he went on, "this 
hand-glass — fifteenth century, warranted; comes from a 
good collection, too; but I reserve the name, in the inter- 
ests of my customer, who was just like yourself, my dear 
sir, the nephew and sole heir of a remarkable collector." 

The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting 
voice, had stooped to take the object from its place; and, 



MARKHEIM 285 

as he had done so, a shock had passed through Markheim, 
a start both of hand and foot, a sudden leap of many 
tumultuous passions to the face. It passed as swiftly as it 
came, and left no trace beyond a certain trembling of the 
hand that now received the glass. 

"A glass," he said, hoarsely, and then paused, and 
repeated it more clearly. "A glass? For Christmas? 
Surely not?" 

"And why not?" cried the dealer. Why not a glass?" 

Markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable 
expression. "You ask me why not?" he said. "Why, look 
here — look in it — look at yourself! Do you like to see it? 
No ! nor I — nor any man." 

The little man had jumped back when Markheim had so 
suddenly confronted him with the mirror; but now, per- 
ceiving there was nothing worse on hand, he chuckled. 
"Your future lady, sir, must be pretty hard favored," 
said he. 

"I ask you," said Markheim, "for a Christmas-present, 
and you give me this — this damned reminder of years, and 
sins and follies — this hand-conscience! Did you mean it? 
Had you a thought in your mind? Tell me. It will be 
better for you if you do. Come, tell me about yourself. I 
hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable 
man?" 

The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was very 
odd, Markheim did not appear to be laughing; there was 
something in his face like an eager sparkle of hope, but 
nothing of mirth. 

"What are you driving at?" the dealer asked. 

"Not charitable?" returned the other, gloomily. "Not 
charitable ; not pious ; not scrupulous ; unloving, unbeloved ; 
a hand to get money, a safe to keep it. Is that all? Dear 
God, man, is that all?" 



286 THE SHORT STORY 

"I will tell you what it is," began the dealer, with som 
sharpness, and then broke off again into a chuckle. "Bu 
I see this is a love match of yours, and you have bee 
drinking the lady's health." 

"Ah !" cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity. "Ah 
have you been in love? Tell me about that." 

"I," cried the dealer. "I in love ! I never had the 
time, nor have I the time today for all this nonsense. 
Will you take the glass?" 

"Where is the hurry?" returned Markheim. "It is very 
pleasant to stand here talking; and life is so short and 
insecure that I would not hurry away from any pleasure — 
no, not even from so mild a one as this. We should rather 
cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at a cliff's 
edge. Every second is a cliff, if you think upon it — a cliff 
a mile high — high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of 
every feature of humanity. Hence it is best to talk pleas- 
antly. Let us talk of each other; why should we wear this 
mask? Let us be confidential. Who knows, we might 
become friends?" 

"I have just one word to say to you," said the dealer. 
"Either make your purchase, or walk out of my shop." 

"True, true," said Markheim. "Enough fooling. To 
business. Show me something else." 

The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the 
glass upon the shelf, his thin blonde hair falling over his 
eyes as he did so. Markheim moved a little nearer, with 
one hand in the pocket of his great-coat; he drew himself 
up and filled his lungs; at the same time many different- 
emotions were depicted together on his face — terror, horror, 
and resolve, fascination and a physical repulsion; and 
through a haggard lift of his upper lip, his teeth looked 
out. 

"This, perhaps, may suit," observed the dealer; and then, 



; 



MAEKHEIM ' 287 

as he began to re-arise, Markheim bounded from behind 
upon his victim. The long, skewer-like dagger flashed and 
fell. The dealer struggled like a hen, striking his temple 
on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floor in a heap. 

Time had some score of small voices in that. shop, some 
stately and slow as was becoming to their great age; others 
garrulous and hurried. All these told out the seconds in 
an intricate chorus of tickings. Then the passage of a 
lad's feet, heavily running on the pavement, broke in upon 
these smaller voices and startled Markheim into the con- 
sciousness of his surroundings. He looked about him 
awfully. The candle stood on the counter, its flame 
solemnly wagging in a draught; and by that inconsidera- 
ble movement, the whole room was filled with noiseless 
bustle and kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadows nod- 
ding, the gross blots of darkness swelling and dwindling as 
with respiration, the faces of the portraits and the china 
gods changing and wavering like images in water. The 
inner door stood ajar, and peered into that leaguer of 
shadows with a long slit of daylight like a pointing finger. 

From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim's eye re- 
turned to the body of his victim, where it lay both humped 
and sprawling, incredibly small and strangely meaner than 
in life. In these poor, miserly clothes, in that ungainly 
attitude, the dealer lay like so much sawdust. Markheim 
had feared to see it, and, lo! it was nothing. And yet, as 
he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and pool of blood be- 
gan to find eloquent voices. There it must lie; there was 
none to work the cunning hinges or direct the miracle of 
locomotion — there it must lie till it was found. Found ! 
ay, and then? Then would this dead flesh lift up a cry 
that would ring over England, and fill the world with the 
echoes of pursuit. Ay, dead or not, this was still the 
enemy. "Time was that when the brains were out," he 



288 THE SHORT STORY 

thought; and the first word struck into his mind. Time, now 
that the deed was accomplished — time, which had closed 
for the victim, had become instant and momentous for the 
slayer. 

The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and 
then another, with every variety of pace and voice — one 
deep as the bell from a cathedral turret, another ringing 
on its treble notes the prelude of a waltz — the clocks began 
to strike the hour of three in the afternoon. 

The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb 
chamber staggered him. He began to bestir himself, going 
to and fro with the candle, beleaguered by moving shadows, 
and startled to the soul by chance reflections. In many 
rich mirrors, some of home designs, some from Venice or 
Amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and repeated, as it 
were an army of spies; his own eyes met and detected him; 
and the sound of his own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed 
the surrounding quiet. And still, as he continued to fill his 
pockets, his mind accused him, with a sickening iteration, 
of the thousand faults of his design. He should have 
chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared an 
alibi; he should not have used a knife; he should have 
been more cautious, and only bound and gagged the dealer, 
and not killed him; he should have been more bold, and 
killed the servant also; he should have done all things 
otherwise; poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the 
mind to change what was unchangeable, to plan what was 
now useless, to be the architect of the irrevocable past. 
Meanwhile, and behind all this activity, brute terrors, like 
the scurrying of rats in a deserted attic, filled the more 
remote chambers of his brain with riot; the hand of the 
constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, and his nerves 
would jerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, in galloping 



< 






MAKKHEIM 289 

defile, the dock, the prison, the gallows, and the black 
coffin. 

Terror of the people in the street sat down before his 
mind like a besieging army. It was impossible, he thought, 
but that some rumor of the struggle must have reached 
their ears and set on edge their curiosity; and now, in 
all the neighboring houses, he divined them sitting motion- 
less and with uplifted ear — solitary people, condemned to 
spend Christmas dwelling alone on memories of the past, 
and now startlingly recalled from that tender exercise; 
happy family parties, struck into silence round the table, 
the mother still with raised finger: every degree and age 
and humor, but all, by their own hearths, prying and 
hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang him. 
Sometimes it seemed to him he could not move too softly; 
the clink of the tall Bohemian goblets rang out loudly like 
a bell; and alarmed by the bigness of the ticking, he was 
tempted to stop the clocks. And then, again, with a swift 
transition of his terrors, the very silence of the place ap- 
peared a source of peril, and a thing to strike and freeze 
the passer-by; and he would step more boldly, and bustle 
aloud among the contents of the shop, and imitate, with 
elaborate bravado, the movements of a busy man at ease in 
his own house. 

But he was now so pulled about by different alarms that, 
while one portion of his mind was still alert and cunning, 
another trembled on the brink of lunacy. One hallucina- 
tion in particular took a strong hold on his credulity. The 
neighbor hearkening with white face beside his window, the 
passer-by arrested by a horrible surmise on the pavement — 
these could at worst suspect, thev could not know; through 
the brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could 
penetrate. But here, within the house, was he alone? He 



290 



THE SHOET STORY 



knew he was; he had watched the servant set forth sweet- 
hearting, in her poor best, "out for the day" written in 
every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone., of course; and 
yet, in the bulk of empty house above him, he could surely 
hear a stir of delicate footing — he was surely conscious, 
inexplicably conscious of some presence. Ay, surely ; to 
every room and corner of the house his imagination followed 
it; and now it was a faceless thing, and yet had eyes to 
see with; and again it was a shadow of himself; and yet 
again behold the image of the dead dealer, reinspired with 
cunning and hatred. 

At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the 
open door which still seemed to repel his eyes. The 
house was tall, the skylight small and dirty, the day blind 
with fog; and the light that filtered down to the ground 
story was exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on the 
threshold of the shop. And yet, in that strip of doubtful 
brightness, did there not hang wavering a shadow? 

Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentle- 
man began to beat with a staff on the shop-door, accom- 
panying his blows with shouts and railleries in which the 
dealer was continually called upon by name. Markheim, 
smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. But no ! he lay 
quite still; he was fled away far beyond earshot of these 
blows and shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; 
and his name, which would once have caught his notice 
above the howling of a storm, had become an empty sound. 
And presently the jovial gentleman desisted from his 
knocking and departed. 

Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be 
done, to get forth from this accusing neighborhood, to 
plunge into a bath of London multitudes, and to reach, on 
the other side of day, that haven of safety and apparent 
innocence — his bed. One visitor had come: at any moment 



MAEKHEIM . 291 

another might follow and be more obstinate. To have 
done the deed, and yet not to reap the profit, "would be too 
abhorrent a failure. The monej'', that was now Markheim's 
concern; and as a means to that, the keys. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where the 
shadow was still lingering and shivering; and with no con- 
scious repugnance of the mind, yet with a tremor of the 
belly, he drew near the body of his victim. The human 
character had quite departed. Like a suit half-stuffed with 
bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, on the 
floor; and yet the thing repelled him. Although so dingy 
and inconsiderable to the eye, he feared it might have more 
significance to the touch. He took the body by the shoul- 
ders, and turned it on its back. It was strangely light and 
supple, and the limbs, as if they had been broken, fell into 
the oddest postures. The face was robbed of all expres- 
sion; but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly smeared 
with blood about one temple. That was, for Markheim, the 
one displeasing circumstance. It carried him back, upon 
the instant, to a certain fair day in a fishers' village : a gray 
day, a piping wind, a crowd upon the street, the blare of 
brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice of a ballad 
singer; and a boy going to and fro, buried over head in 
the crowd and divided between interest and fear, until, com- 
ing out upon the chief place of concourse, he beheld a 
booth and a great screen with pictures, dismally designed, 
garishly colored: Brownrigg with her apprentice; the Man- 
nings with their murdered guest; Weare in the death-grip 
of Thurtell; and a score besides of famous crimes. The 
thing was as clear as an illusion; he was once again that 
little boy; he was looking once again, and with the same 
sense of physical revolt, at these vile pictures; he was 
still stunned by the thumping of the drums. A bar of that 
day's music returned upon his memory; and at that, for 



292 THE SHOKT STORY 

the first time, a qualm came over him, a breath of nausea, 
a sudden weakness of the joints, which he must instantly 
resist and conquer. 

He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from 
these considerations ; looking the more hardily in the dead 
face, bending his mind to realize the nature and greatness 
of his crime. So little awhile ago that face had moved 
with every change of sentiment, that pale mouth had 
spoken, that body had been all on fire with governable 
energies; and now, and by his act, that piece of life had 
been arrested, as the horologist, 1 with interjected finger, 
arrests the beating of the clock. So he reasoned in vain; 
he could rise to no more remorseful consciousness; the 
same heart which had shuddered before the painted effigies 
of crime, looked on its reality unmoved. At best, he felt 
a gleam of pity for one who had been endowed in vain with 
all those faculties that can make the world a garden of 
enchantment, one who had never lived and who was now 
dead. But of penitence, no, not a tremor. 

With that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, 
he found the keys and advanced toward the open door of 
the shop. Outside, it had begun to rain smartly; and the 
sound of the shower upon the roof had banished silence. 
Like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the house were 
haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and 
mingled with the ticking of the clocks. And, as . Mark- 
heim approached the door, he seemed to hear, in answer to 
his own cautious tread, the steps of another foot with- 
drawing up the stair. The shadow still palpitated loosely 
on the threshold. He threw a ton's weight of resolve upon 
his muscles, and drew back the door. 

The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare 
floor and stairs; on the bright suit of armor posted, hal- 

(1) horologist: clock-maker. 



MAEKHEIM 293 

bert in hand, upon the landing; and on the dark wood- 
carvings, and framed pictures that hung against the yellow 
panels of the wainscot. So loud was the beating of the 
rain through all the house that, in Markheim's ears, it 
began to be distinguished into many different sounds. Foot- 
steps and sighs, the tread of regiments marching in the 
distance, the chink of money in the counting, and the creak- 
ing of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to mingle with 
the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing 
of the water in the pipes. The sense that he was not 
alone grew upon him to the verge of madness. On every 
side he was haunted and begirt by presences. He heard 
them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop, he 
heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began 
with a great effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly 
before him and followed stealthily behind. If he were 
but deaf, he thought, how tranquilly he would possess his 
soul ! And then again, and hearkening with ever fresh 
attention, he blessed himself for that unresisting sense 
which held the outposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his 
life. His head turned continually on his neck; his eyes, 
which seemed starting from their orbits, scouted on every 
side, and on every side were half-rewarded as with the 
tail of something nameless vanishing. The four-and-twenty 
steps to the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies. 

On that first story, the doors stood ajar, three of them 
like three ambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of 
cannon. He could never again, he felt, be sufficiently im- 
mured and fortified from men's observing eyes ; he longed 
to be home, girt in by walls, buried among bedclothes, 
and invisible to all but God. And at that thought he 
wondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers and 
the fear they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. 
It was not so, at least, with him. He feared the laws of 



294 THE SHORT STORY 

nature, lest, in their callous and immutable procedure, they 
should preserve some damning evidence of his crime. He 
feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitious terror, 
some scission in the continuity of man's experience, some 
willful illegality of nature. He played a game of skill, 
depending on the rules, calculating consequence from 
cause ; and what if nature, as the defeated tyrant overthrew 
the chess-board, should break the mold of their succession? 
The like had befallen Napoleon (so writers said) when the 
winter changed the time of its appearance. 1 The like might 
befall Markheim: the solid walls might become transparent 
and reveal his doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the 
stout planks might yield under his foot like quicksands and 
detain him in their clutch ; ay, and there were soberer acci- 
dents that might destroy him: if, for instance, the house 
should fall and imprison him beside the body of his victim ; 
or the house next door should fly on fire, and the firemen 
invade him from all sides. These things he feared; and, 
in a sense, these things might be called the hands of God 
reached forth against sin. But about God himself he was 
at ease; his act was doubtless exceptional, but so were his 
excuses, which God knew; it was there, and not among 
men, that he felt sure of justice. 

When he had got safe into the drawing-room, and shut 
the door behind him, he was aware of a respite from 
alarms. The room was quite dismantled, uncarpeted be- 
sides, and strewn with packing cases and incongruous fur- 
niture; several great pier-glasses, in which he beheld 
himself at various angles, like an actor on a stage; many 
pictures, framed and unframed, standing with their faces 
to the wall; a fine Sheraton sideboard, a cabinet of mar- 
quetry, and a great old bed, with tapestry hangings. The 

(1) When Napoleon invaded Russia, the winter set in earlier than 
usual, and on his retreat thousands of his soldiers perished from cold. 



MARKHEIM 295 

windows opened to the floor; but by great good fortune 
the lower part of the shutters had been closed, and this con- 
cealed him from the neighbors. Here, then, Markheim 
drew in a packing case before the cabinet, and began to 
search among the keys. It was a long business, for there 
were many; and it was irksome, besides; for, after all, 
there might be nothing in the cabinet, and time was on the 
wing. But the closeness of the occupation sobered him. 
With the tail of his eye he saw the door — even glanced at it 
from time to time directly, like a besieged commander 
pleased to verify the good estate of his defenses. But in 
truth he was at peace. The rain falling in the street 
sounded natural and pleasant. Presently, on the other 
side, the notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a 
hymn, and the voices of many children took up the air and 
words. How stately, how comfortable was the melody ! 
How fresh the youthful voices ! Markheim gave ear to it 
smilingly, as he sorted out the keys; and his mind was 
thronged with answerable ideas and images; church-going 
children and the pealing of the high organ ; children afield, 
bathers by the brook-side, ramblers on the brambly com- 
mon, kite flyers in the windy and cloud-navigated sky; 
and then, at another cadence of the hymn, back again to 
church, and the somnolence of summer Sundays, and the 
high genteel voice of the parson (which he smiled a little 
to recall) and the painted Jacobean 1 tombs, and the dim 
lettering of the Ten Commandments in the chancel. 

And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was 
startled to his feet. A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a burst- 
ing gush of blood, went over him, and then he stood trans- 
fixed and thrilling. A step mounted the stair slowly and 
steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon the knob, and 
the lock clicked, and the door opened. 

(1) Jacobean: the period of the reign of James I. (1603-1625). 



296 THE SHORT STORY 

Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he knew 
not, whether the dead man walking, or the official minis- 
ters of human justice, or some chance witness blindly stum- 
bling in to consign him to the gallows. But when a face 
was thrust into the aperture, glanced round the room, 
looked at him, nodded and smiled as if in friendly recogni- 
tion, and then withdrew again, and the door closed behind 
it, his fear broke loose from his control in a hoarse cry. 
At the sound of this the visitant returned. 

"Did you call me?" he asked, pleasantly, and with that 
he entered the room and closed the door behind him. 

Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. 
Perhaps there was a film upon his sight, but the outlines 
of the newcomer seemed to change and waver like those 
of the idols in the wavering candle-light of the shop; and 
at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought 
he bore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of 
living terror, there lay in his bosom the conviction that 
this thing was not of the earth and not of God. 

And yet the creature had a strange air of the common- 
place, as he stood looking on Markheim with a smile; and 
when he added: "You are looking for the money, I be- 
lieve?" it was in the tones of everyday politeness. 

Markheim made no answer. 

"I should warn you," resumed the other, "that the maid 
has left her sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be 
here. If Mr, Markheim be found in this house, I need not 
describe to him the consequences." 

"You know me?" cried the murderer. 

The visitor smiled. "You have long been a favorite of 
mine," he said; "and I have long observed and often sought 
to help you." 

"What are you?" cried Markheim: "the devil?" 



MABKHEIM 297 

"What I may be," returned the other, "can not affect 
the service I propose to render you." 

"It can/' cried Markheim; "it does! Be helped by you? 
No, never; not by you! You do not know me yet; thank 
God, you do not know me!" 

"I know you," replied the visitant, with a sort of kind 
severity or rather firmness. "I know you to the soul." 

"Know me !" cried Markheim. "Who can do so? My life 
is but a travesty and slander on myself. I have lived to 
belie my nature. All men do; all men are better than this 
disguise that grows about and stifles them. You see each 
dragged away by life, like one whom bravos have seized 
and muffled in a cloak. If they had their 'own control — if 
you could see their faces, they would be altogether different, 
they would shine out for heroes and saints ! I am worse 
than most ; myself is more overlaid ; my excuse is known 
to me and God. But, had I the time, I could disclose 
myself." 

"To me?" inquired the visitant. 

"To you before all," returned the murderer. "I supposed 
you were intelligent. I thought — since you exist — you 
would prove a reader of the heart. And yet you would 
propose to judge me by my acts! Think of it; my acts! 
I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giants 
have dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my 
mother — the giants of circumstance. And you would judge 
me by my acts ! But can you not look within? Can you not 
understand that evil is hateful to me? Can you not see 
within me the clear writing of conscience, never blurred 
by any willful sophistry, although too often disregarded? 
Can you not read me for a thing that surely must be com- 
mon as humanity — the unwilling sinner?" 

"All this is very feelingly expressed," was the reply, 



298 THE SHOKT STORY 

"but it regards me not. These points of consistency are 
beyond my province, and I care not in the least by what 
compulsion you may have been dragged away, so as you 
are but carried in the right direction. But time flies; the 
servant delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and at 
the pictures on the hoardings, 1 but still she keeps moving 
nearer; and remember, it is as if the gallows itself was 
striding toward you through the Christmas streets ! Shall I 
help you; I, who know all? Shall I tell you where to find 
the money?" 

"For what price?" asked Markheim. 

"I offer you the service for a Christmas gift," returned 
the other. 

Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of 
bitter triumph. "No," said he, "I will take nothing at 
your hands; if I were dying of thirst, and it was your hand 
that put the pitcher to my lips, I should find the courage 
to refuse. It may be credulous, but I will do nothing to 
commit myself to evil." 

"I have no objection to a death-bed repentance," observed 
the visitant. 

"Because you disbelieve their efficacy!" Markheim cried. 

"I do not say so," returned the other; "but I look on 
these things from a different side, and when the life is done 
my interest falls. The man has lived to serve me, to spread 
black looks under color of religion, or to sow tares in the 
wheat-field, as you do, in a course of weak compliance 
with desire. Now that he draws so near to his deliver- 
ance, he can add but one act of service — to repent, to die 
smiling, and thus to build up in confidence and hope the 
more timorous of my surviving followers. I am not so hard 
a master. Try me. Accept my help. Please yourself in 

hoardings : bill boards. 



MAEKHEIM 299 

life as you have done hitherto; please yourself more amply, 
spread your elbows at the board ; and when the night begins 
to fall and the curtains to be drawn, I tell you, for your 
greater comfort, that you will find it even easy to compound 
your quarrel with your conscience, and to make a truckling 
peace with God. I came but now from such a death- 
bed, and the room was full of sincere mourners, listening 
to the man's last words: and when I looked into that face, 
which had been set as a flint against mercy, I found it 
smiling with hope." 

"And do you, then, suppose me such a creature?" asked 
Markheim. "Do you think I have no more generous aspira- 
tions than to sin, and sin, and sin, and, at last, sneak into 
heaven ? My heart rises at the thought. Is this, then, your 
experience of mankind? or is it because you find me with 
red hands that you presume such baseness? and is this 
crime of murder indeed so impious as to dry up the very 
springs of good?" 

"Murder is to me no special category," replied the other. 
"All sins are murder, even as all life is war. I behold your 
race, like starving mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out 
of the hands of famine and feeding on each other's lives. 
I follow sins beyond the moment of their acting; I find in 
all that the last consequence is death; and to my eyes, the 
pretty maid who thwarts her mother with such taking 
graces on a question of a ball, drips no less visibly with 
human gore than such a murderer as yourself. Do I say 
that I follow sins? I follow virtues also; they differ not 
by the thickness of a nail, they are both scythes for the 
reaping angel of Death. Evil, for which I live, consists not 
in action but in character. The bad man is dear to me ; not 
the bad act, whose fruits, if we could follow them far 
enough down the hurtling cataract of the ages, might yet be 



300 THE SHORT STORY 

found more blessed than those of the rarest virtues. And 
it is not because you have killed a dealer, but because you 
are Markheim, that I offered to forward your escape." 

"I will lay my heart open to you/' answered Markheim. 
"This crime on which you find me is my last. On my way 
to it I have learned many lessons ; itself is a lesson, a mo- 
mentous lesson. Hitherto I have been driven with revolt to 
what I would not; I was a bond-slave to poverty, driven 
and scourged. There are robust virtues that can stand in 
these temptations ; mine was not so : I had a thirst of pleas- 
ure. But today, and out of this deed, I pluck both warning 
and riches — both the power and a fresh resolve to be my- 
self. I become in all things a free actor in the world; I 
begin to see myself all changed, these hands the agents of 
good, this heart at peace. Something comes over me out 
of the past; something of what I have dreamed on Sabbath 
evenings to the sound of - the church organ, of what I fore- 
cast when I shed tears over noble books, or talked, an inno- 
cent child, with my mother. There lies my life ; I have wan- 
dered a few years, but now I see once more my city of 
destination." 

"You are to use this money on the Stock Exchange, I 
think?" remarked the visitor; "and there, if I mistake not, 
you have already lost some thousands?" 

"Ah," said Markheim, "but this time I have a sure thing." 

"This time, again, you will lose," replied the visitor, 
quietly. 

"Ah, but I keep back the half!" cried Markheim. 

"That also you will lose," said the other. 

The sweat started upon Markheim's brow. "Well, then, 
what matter?" he exclaimed. "Say it be lost, say I am 
plunged again in poverty, shall one part of me, and that 
the worse, continue until the end to override the better? 



1 



MARKHEIM 301 N 

Evil and good run strong in me, haling me both ways. I 
do not love the one thing, I love all. I can conceive great 
deeds, renunciations, martyrdoms; and though I be fallen 
to such a crime as murder, pity is no stranger to my 
thoughts. I pity the poor; who knows their trials better 
than myself? I pity and help them; I prize love, I love 
honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on 
earth but I love it from my heart. And are my vices only 
to direct my life, and my virtues to lie without effect, like 
some passive lumber of the mind? Not so; good, also, is a 
spring of acts." 

But the visitant raised his finger. "For six-and-thirty 
years that you have been in this world," said he, "through 
many changes of fortune and varieties of humor, I have 
watched you steadily fall. Fifteen years ago you would 
have started at a theft. Three years back you would have 
blenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, is 
there any cruelty or meanness, from which you still recoil? 
— five years from now I shall detect you in the fact ! 
Downward, downward, lies your way ; nor can anything but 
death avail to stop you." 

"It is true," Markheim said, huskily, "I have in some 
degree complied with evil. But it is so with all: the very 
saints, in the mere exercise of living, grow less dainty, and 
take on the tone of their surroundings." 

"I will propound to you one simple question," said the 
other; "and as you answer, I shall read to you your moral 
horoscope. You have grown in many things more lax: pos- 
sibly you do right to be so; and at any account, it is the 
same with all men. But granting that, are you in any one 
particular, however trifling, more difficult to please with 
your own conduct, or do you go in all things with a looser 
rein?" 



302 THE SHOET STOEY 

"In any one?" repeated Markheim, with an anguish of 
consideration. "No/' he added, with despair, "in none! 
I have gone down in all." 

"Then," said the visitor, "content yourself with what you 
are, for you will never change; and the words of your 
part on this stage are irrevocably written down." 

Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it- 
was the visitor who first broke the silence. "That being 
so," he said, "shall I show you the money?" 

"And grace?" cried Markheim. 

"Have you not tried it?" returned the other. "Two or 
three years ago, did I not see you on the platform of revival 
meetings, and was not your voice the loudest in the hymn?" 

"It is true," said Markheim; "and I see clearly what 
remains for me by way of duty. I thank you for these 
lessons from my soul; my eyes are opened, and I behold 
myself at last for what I am." 

At this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rung 
through the house; and the visitant, as though this were 
some concerted signal for which he had been waiting, 
changed at once in his demeanor. 

"The maid !" he cried. "She has returned, as I fore- 
warned you, and there is now before you one more difficult 
passage. Her master, you must say, is ill ; you must let her 
in, with an assured but rather serious countenance — no 
smiles, no overacting, and I promise you success ! Once 
the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity that 
has already rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this 
last danger in your path. Thenceforward you have the 
whole evening — the whole night, if needful — to ransack the 
treasures of the house and to make good your safety. This 
is help that comes to you with the mask of danger. Up !" 
he cried: "up, friend; your life hangs trembling in the 
scales; up, and act!" 



MARKHEIM 303\ 

\ 

Markheim steadily regarded his counselor. "If I be con- 
demned to evil acts/' he said, "there is still one door of 
freedom open — I can cease from action. If my life be an 
ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I be, as you say 
truly, at the beck of every small temptation, I can yet, by 
one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. 
My love of good is damned to barrenness; it may, and let 
it be! But I have still my hatred of evil; and from that, 
to your galling disappointment, you shall see that I can 
draw both energy and courage." 

The features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful 
and lovely change: they brightened and softened with a 
tender triumph; and, even as they brightened, faded and 
dislimned. But Markheim did not pause to watch or under- 
stand the transformation. He opened the door and went 
down-stairs very slowly, thinking to himself. His past 
went soberly before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and 
strenuous like a dream, random as chance-medley — a scene 
of defeat. Life, as he thus reviewed it, tempted him no 
longer; but on the further side he perceived a quiet haven 
for his bark. He paused in the passage, and looked into 
the shop, where the candle still burned by the dead body. 
It was strangely silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed 
into his mind, as he stood gazing. And then the bell once 
more broke out into impatient clamor. 

He confronted the maid upon the threshold with some- 
thing like a smile. 

"You had better go for the police," said he: "I have 
killed your master." 

editor's note 

A character in a story may be shown to us through his 
actions, through his words, or through his thoughts. The 
story of adventure, as we have seen, shows us characters 



304 THE SHORT STORY 

in action ; at the other extreme is the psychological story 
which presents the characters as thinking. In the storj 
just read, the action is all given in the first few pages: the 
important thing is what takes place in Markheim's mind 
afterward. The problem before the author is to make us 
realize the feelings of a man, not wholly bad, who has just- 
committed his first great crime. We ail know how, wh 
we are seriously considering a proposed action, there ±o 
a sort of debate within us, two selves seeming to take 
turns in advancing their arguments. So Stevenson makes 
Markheim, almost beside himself with fear, fancy that he 
sees this other self and debates with him the question of 
his future. So we follow the struggle between the higher 
and the lower natures of the man ; we see him twist and 
evade, and at last, facing the truth, rise nobly to meet his 
fate. 

Artistic workmanship is shown in the direct opening of 
the story, and in the sudden and effective close. Note, too, 
how vividly Stevenson portrays the thoughts of Markheim ; 
even those thoughts that do not shape themselves into 
words : "Behind all this activity brute terrors, like the 
scurrying of rats in a deserted attic, filled the more remote 
chambers of his brain with riot." 

Of the various forms of the short story the psychological 
is probably the most difficult. In consequence, the list of 
successful writers is not long. Henry James is easily the 
first of the group; nearly ail of his mature work, both 
in the short story and the novel, is of this type. 

REPRESENTATIVE PSYCHOLOGICAL STORIES 

Wakefield ; The Hollow of the Three Hills ; in Twice- 
Told Talcs Nathaniel Hawthorne 

The Birthplace; The Tone of Time; in The Better 
Sort Henry James 

Julia Bride; in Julia Bride' also in Great English 

Short Story Writers Henry James 



MA'KKllKIM 305 

rhe Muse's Tragedy; in The Greater 

Inclination Edith Wharton 

The Recovery; in Crucial Instances Edith Wharton 

The Bolted Door ; in Tales of Men and 

Ghosts Edith Wharton 

s n Imaginative Woman; in Wessex Tales. .Thomas Hardy 

oward; in The Odd Number Guy De Maupassant 

The White Cowl; in Flute and Violin. . .James Lane Allen 

The Solitary; in Strong Hearts G. W. Cable 

Old Lady Pratt's Spectacles ; in Later Pratt 

Portraits Anna Fuller 



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